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bookwormsid1015 · 3 years

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Operation: Baby Talk [1/3]

Hizashi pounds his fist against the mahogany door rapidly while Shouta and Oboro stand behind him, Shouta with his standard bored expression and Oboro with shifting, anxious feet. Beside them, a small white cloud floats drowsily with a small grocery bag full of chili bean soup and medicine inside it.

Unlike the three boys, Nemuri is already living alone in a small apartment complex a few streets away from UA High School, working two jobs to keep up with rent and her own chaotic interests. Although her independence gives them a great place to hang out to play video games on weekends, it also draws most of her attention away from them most of the week. Despite this, Nemuri has always been a punctual, upstanding student who turns in her homework on time and always makes room for friends. Nothing has ever stopped her before, and it still amazes Oboro to see her act like such an… adult.

Bottom line: Nemuri is a busy bee and it’s not uncommon to not see her for days on end. What is uncommon, however, is discovering she hasn’t been at school or internship for the past three days and apparently called off work for the next two weeks.

This knowledge has been bothering Oboro nonstop. Is she okay? Did she get hurt while on patrol with His Purple Highness? Did she get sick? Is she all alone? Her parents live in Saitama Prefecture, a whole three hours away from Musutafu. If she is sick, knowing Nemuri and her stupid habit of hoarding her burdens to herself, she didn’t tell them or anyone else. Oboro knows for a fact she didn’t tell him, Shouta or Hizashi; the only reason they know of her strange absence was through Iida Tensei, who Oboro shares his math class with.

“Oh, she called His Purple Highness and told him something came up and that she wouldn’t be coming in for a while,” Iida had told him casually. “Why? She didn’t tell you?”

It pissed Shouta and Hizashi off that Nemuri wouldn’t let them-- her best friends-- know about her getting sick, but it just worried Oboro. It took a lot of convincing, but he managed to drag them with him to the local grocery store, grab Nemuri her favorite soup and some medicine, and come all the way over here. Shouta and Hizashi kept on glancing at Oboro strangely and whispering to each other, but Oboro doesn’t understand why they would act so weird about it. He’s Nemuri’s friend! Friends are supposed to look out for each other, right?

“Nemuriiii!” Hizashi shouts through the door between rapid knocking. “I know you’re in there, I can smell hoe for miles! Open up the mcfuckin’ dooooorrr!”

Shouta lifts an unamused eyebrow at Hizashi. “Dude, what the fuck?” he deadpans, and Hizashi glares at the ravenette from over his shoulder.

“We’re friends! I’m allowed to call her a hoe.” Hizashi turns back to the door. “Nemuri! Open the DOOR!” He emphasizes “door” with a high pitched shriek, and Oboro shoves his palm into his face to stifle his snorts.

“You guys are both assholes,” Shouta grumbles, though it’s obvious he’s smiling.

The door swings open in a quick arc that slams into Hizashi’s forehead with a comical bonk. Nemuri is standing in the doorway, clad in her pajamas with baggy pink sweatpants and a white tank top with spaghetti straps. Her red glasses sit on the bridge of her nose, her deep indigo hair tied up into a short messy bun atop her head, and her tired blue eyes glare at the boys with exhausted irritation. Seeing Nemuri without her usual playful smile is surprising in and of itself, but Oboro’s sky blue eyes widen at what she’s holding against her chest with one arm.

A small baby dressed in a cute little sailor suit is leaning into her chest, snoozing quietly with one thumb in his mouth. He looks like the splitting image of Nemuri, with a matching mole under his right eye and pale skin. The only thing that differs from her is the baby’s hairstyle, which is short and curly.

Nemuri releases the door knob and readjusts her grip on the baby, still glaring at the boys. “What the fuck, guys? You couldn’t even call in advance?” she hisses at them.

Shouta and Hizashi stare between Nemuri and the baby, speechless, while Oboro’s brain turns like slow moving gears. After a solid three seconds, he suddenly utters a horrified gasp that attracts the eyes of all three friends. “Nemuri! You were pregnant?!” he shrieks.

The accusation breaks the shocked spell in an instant, and suddenly Hizashi is lying flat on his ass, howling with laughter. Even Shouta ducks his face away, trying to stifle his giggles; Nemuri narrows her eyes at Oboro pointedly.

“Oh yeah, I got pregnant and gave birth in three days. Of course I wasn’t pregnant, dipshit.” Nemuri readjusts her grip on the baby again, holding him up a little higher. “This is my older sister’s kid. Say hello to baby Haito, everyone.”

Not knowing what else to do, everyone waves at the little baby, and the baby lifts his head drowsily. When he opens his eyes, Oboro is surprised to find the baby’s eyes are a light blue that matches the hue of the sky above, with faint freckles dusting over his cheeks. Upon seeing the newcomers, the baby fusses anxiously and buries his face in Nemuri’s bust.

Nemuri’s attitude changes in an instant, from tired and angry to worried and tender. She lifts one hand to gently pat the baby’s back and she rocks him from side to side. “Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay Haito-baby. It’s okay. Auntie Nemi’s here. You’re safe with me,” she coos into his hair, and the baby’s whines quiet down. Her voice is so soft and gentle it warms Oboro’s heart just by hearing it, and he can tell Hizashi and Shouta are just as shocked by her motherly tone.

After the baby quiets down, Nemuri lifts her head to peer at her friends, suddenly tired all over again. “Sorry for being a bitch, guys. My sister and her boyfriend had to go abroad for some job interview in South Korea, and since my parents think her boyfriend is a deadbeat, they want nothing to do with him or the baby. So she gave Haito to me,” Nemuri explains, punctuating her words with a tired sigh. “I’ve had, like, no sleep for the past three days. Damn… and my rent’s due next Thursday…”

Shouta and Hizashi look between themselves, unsure of how to react. Only Oboro is willing to meet Nemuri’s eyes, and worry pangs to life in his chest at the dark bags under her eyes. “When will they be back?” he asks her.

“Hm? In about two weeks, I think,” she says, and Oboro can almost feel her invisible walls rising, guarding her from their worry. “Don’t worry, guys. I’m fine. I’ve pulled all-nighters before, this is nothing.”

“You weren’t taking care of someone’s kid, though,” Oboro gently protests. “Have you been eating anything? Anything at all?”

Nemuri pries her eyes away from his concerned stare. “I had a protein shake yesterday,” she replies stiffly.

Oboro’s brows lower into a frown. “For breakfast or dinner?” he presses.

Nemuri sighs. “Breakfast…” she mutters in response, then quickly shakes her head as a wobbly smile forces its way onto her lips. “It’s nothing. I mean it. You guys don’t have to worry about me.”

Oboro is already shaking his head. “That’s bullshit,” he tells her, and when he sees her shoulders haunching defensively, he quickly adds, “I know you can take care of yourself, but as your friend, I still worry about you. I mean, look at you! You look like you could pass out any second now!”

“I’m fine,” she replies, her tone harder this time.

Oboro stares at her incredulously. Why can’t she just let them help for once? She has it in her mind that she has to be the strong one, the responsible one. Why can’t she see that she’s a kid just like the rest of them? It frustrates him to no end, yet in the depths of his exasperation, an epiphany comes to mind.

“Why don’t I help you take care of him?” he offers, and his friends’ eyes fall on him in surprise.

“You? Help me? Take care of… a baby?” Nemuri echoes, her words slow and meticulous as if she were taking her time tasting a treat, figuring out whether she liked it or not. She glances down at the baby in her arms, then to the small cloud floating beside the taller boy, eyeing the small grocery bag full of medicine in particular. Oboro has never seen her look so… anxious before.

Assuming she’s just not used to being offered help, Oboro goes on cheerfully, “Yeah! I have a little brother, remember? I’m a pro at babysitting!” Something about his words is bothering him, the reason flapping seamlessly in the back of his mind, though Oboro can’t pin down why. He just smiles joyfully at her, hoping his smile is convincing enough.

Finally, Nemuri sighs. “Come around six tonight,” she tells him, her tone strange. “Haito usually gets fussy around dinner time.”

Oboro flashes her a thumbs up. “Bet!” he cheers.

Nemuri smiles at him, and Oboro’s heart gives an unexpected beat; somehow it feels different from her usual broad, gleaming smiles. He doesn’t have enough time to decipher it before Nemuri quickly bids them goodbye and closes the door, disappearing back into her apartment.

A long beat of silence passes between them, and Oboro doesn’t dare move his eyes away from the front door. He can feel the hot stares of Shouta and Hizashi on his back, pinning him in place like a butterfly on a bulletin board.

“Holy fucking shit. Did you just…?” Suddenly, Hizashi’s face splits apart into a bright smile, and he latches his arms around Oboro’s to shake rapidly. “Dude, I can’t believe you did that! You’re so smooth!”

Oboro blinks at him owlishly, still not comprehending what just happened. The flapping in the back of his mind is deafening, now. “Eh? What’d I do?” he asks.

Hizashi laughs loudly. “Don’t play coy with me, bro! You totally went, ‘fear not, my love. Even if this child is not mine, I shall support both you and the baby!’ That was so domestic it made me blush!” he squeals.

The puzzle pieces finally fit together in his brain, and a blush hits him with the speed of an oncoming train. Suddenly, he remembers the faint blush on her cheeks, and the tender pull of her smile. Although Nemuri is the type of person to extend a helping hand out to anyone in need, she rarely accepts help from anyone else. In spite of that, she’s letting him help her with taking care of her sister’s baby?

Oboro has no idea what expression is on his face right now.

“Oboro.” Shouta’s stern voice reaches his ears, grounding him before his brain could float into the sky like a balloon. He slowly turns to face the ravenette, and finds Shouta watching him with dark, serious eyes. “Do you have any idea what you just did?” he asks, his tone flat.

Oboro blinks slowly, his brain slow and muddled yet filled with thoughts moving at the speed of light. “I… said I’d help wit’ da baby…” he murmurs dumbly, the words feeling alien on his tongue. Shouta sighs.

The trio finally gather their wits and begin walking away from Nemuri’s doorstep. Oboro is suddenly thankful her apartment is on the first floor; he doesn’t think he has the motor skills to walk down stairs right now. “I know you said you have a little brother, but it’s been seven years since you had to change a diaper. Do you think you can handle this?” Shouta asks the taller boy, and Oboro wrings his hands together tightly.

“I mean, yeah, why not?” he replies, more so to convince himself. “Between me and Nemuri, how hard can it be?”

#Bnha #Bnha Vigilantes #Mha #Kayama Nemuri #Shirakumo Oboro #Aizawa Shouta #Yamada Hizashi #Shirakumo Oboro x Kayama Nemuri #CloudNight #Shirayama #Bnha Midnight #Loud Cloud #Eraserhead #Present Mic #Haha fuckers I told you I won't let this ship die

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xiaomomowrites · 3 years

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midas touch

Genshin Impact | ZhongChi

Summary: Sometimes, in moments where Zhongli finds himself surrendering to the harmonic bliss that surrounds him, he’ll allow himself to lose control over his mortal form and let some of his draconic features shine through. Some days his horns will make an appearance, and other times his scales will begin to blossom across what once was human skin. Tonight, his horns make themselves present, and his eyes have shifted, too.

“Can I…” Ajax starts tentatively. His eyes are blown so wide, and they glimmer with curiosity and a silent joy that is akin to a child being gifted sweets. Zhongli chuckles, nodding his head in silent affirmation.

The pads of Ajax’s fingers hesitantly make contact with the horns stemming from the crown of his head. They’re beautiful; they glow as if they’re dipped in melted mora, pulsing brightly and casting a dim light across Ajax’s pale skin. They’re quite long, and Ajax gently trails his index finger along the curve of a horn. They don’t stick straight up, though. Instead, it bows backwards charmingly until it tapers off midway toward the back of Zhongli’s head.

Beautiful.

Or, Zhongli discovers something new about his powers and gladly takes advantage of it.

Find it on Ao3!

A/N: Soo the thought process behind this fic was inspired by three different pieces of chili fanart I found on twitter (I'll link it in the end notes) and the concept that my mutual put in my head of Zhongli turning Childe's skin to gold whenever he touches him. My mutual is a genius. And uhhh initially I didn't expect this to turn explicit, but I just started typing and then suddenly they were going at it lol. But writing them super soft and cute is always such a pleasure, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did :)

But this was so fun to write! Definitely a good break from act vi bc damn that piece just doesn't want to be written right now. I have a collab with miss stereotypicallyasian on the way as well, a Naruto x Genshin crossover that I should be posting sometime toward the end of the week!

As soon as he wakes up, Zhongli finds his breath stuttering with a noticeable hollowness in his chest that he cannot quite describe.

Briefly, he supposes it is merely the effect of his gnosis being taken. But even with the core of his divinity gone, there still remains a vibrant energy coursing through his veins that buzzes with a level of excitement. It’s a nagging feeling, but it is the very thing that keeps him awake at night. Zhongli exhales, nice and slow, and allows the back of his head to press against the pillows he had propped up against the table. His hair is free from its usual hold and it spills across his shoulders in ribbons of black and gold.

He stretches his legs across the blankets he’s laid beneath him and wiggles his toes, flexes his fingers, twitches his nose. The wind around him responds in kind. Warm Liyuan air wafts through the room at the inn as the sun begins to set, casting an orange glow across the walls. Zhongli feels himself sink into the floor, melting into the plush pillows, and revels in the way he is being held down firmly by the weight in his lap that belongs to his beloved.

He’s been tired these days.

Only a week had passed after the incident with Osial and his official retirement as the Archon of Geo. Adjusting so far has been strange, and eerily enough, rather easy. Despite the new creaking in his joints and the mild back pain he never quite felt until now, he’s become rather fond of the quaint life he subconsciously built while he was living amongst his people.

And, well, Ajax’s presence made adjusting rather painless. The Harbinger staying by his side somehow made it easier to to cope with the gaping void in his chest.

Speaking of which, Ajax makes himself known by rolling over and shuffling closer, burying his face in his abdomen. The ex-Archon cracks an eye open and looks down at the smattering of red hair against his stomach. He can’t help but smile at the sight.

“Ajax,” he calls, voice a deep rumble from his temporary slumber, “it’s getting late. If you continue napping, you’ll have a hard time sleeping tonight.”

He’s answered with unintelligible mumbling, and the vibrations of Ajax’s voice tickles his stomach.

“What?” He breathes out a laugh.

“Xiansheng I don’t want to get uppp,” Ajax whines as he props his chin against Zhongli’s stomach. He wriggles closer, moving up higher in his lap until his face is pressed up against his chest. Zhongli cradles the back of his head lovingly, and softly runs a bare hand through ginger locks.

“You must, baobei,” Zhongli tugs on his hair gently, “also because I am getting quite hungry.”

Ajax makes a noise of indignance against him. The ginger looks up, ready to protest, but abruptly halts.

His eyes widened comically. Ajax stares at him like he had grown a second head, cerulean eyes tracing his every feature as if this was his first time ever seeing him. Any noise or complaint of being woken up dies on his lips as he’s suddenly speechless, any and all vocabulary suddenly void.

Zhongli’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Is everything okay?”

“Xiansheng, you’re…” the ginger trails off breathlessly, “by the Gods, you’re beautiful.”

Zhongli sputters. “Well, I am flattered, truly, but--”

“Zhongli,” Ajax all but hisses. He brings a deft finger up to Zhongli’s hair, but doesn’t quite stop at his fringe. He reaches up, up, up and--

Ah.

Zhongli knows where this is going. This isn’t the first time this has happened.

Sometimes, in moments where Zhongli finds himself surrendering to the harmonic bliss that surrounds him, he’ll allow himself to lose control over his mortal form and let some of his draconic features shine through. Some days his horns will make an appearance, and other times his scales will begin to blossom across what once was human skin. Tonight, his horns make themselves present, and his eyes have shifted, too.

Beautiful.

“You’re…” he breathes, “I’ve never seen…”

“It has been a long time since I last let myself truly relax into this form.”

Ajax’s eyes flicker back down to his face as Zhongli’s voice snaps him out of his reverie. He’s met with eyes glowing bright as cor lapis, pupils almost narrowed into slits, and a few stray ebony scales.

“Woah…”

Once again with the curiosity of a child, Ajax reaches out to poke at the scales blooming across Zhongli’s skin. The ex-Archon tuts.

“My apologies, I was not aware that this much of me was visible—“

“Why are you apologizing?” Ajax demands, eyes darting up to his horns once more before locking onto his golden ones. “You’re beautiful, Xiansheng. I had no idea you could even do this.”

“Frankly, I am surprised, too,” Zhongli speaks honestly. Ajax looks at him, stunned. “I didn’t think this could happen without my gnosis. But life has been full of surprises lately, it seems.”

“What else could you do?” Ajax asks excitedly, shifting to where he was sitting up and laying on his side, curled around the latter. He rests against the incline of Zhongli’s body comfortably. They were still pressed against each other impossibly close, legs intertwining. Zhongli’s head presses against the pillow behind him, and Ajax stares at the horn-shaped indent in the cushion inquisitively. Zhongli is filled with an abrupt surge of affection at the sight. It has been a long time since someone looked at him with such fascination in this form. “Without your gnosis, I mean. Obviously you could do a lot with it.”

“I still have yet to see, Ajax, as it’s only been a week since I’ve lost it,” Zhongli murmurs. He brushes a stray strand of hair away from Ajax’s forehead. He presses the pad of his thumb against the growing frown lines developing between the ginger’s eyebrows. “How are you already developing wrinkles? You are still so young.”

“Mean!” Ajax pulls away, rubbing at the spot with the back of his hand. “Says the one who is six thousand years old! In fact I’m surprised you don’t have any wrinkles. Seriously, I’ve never even see you apply moisturizer before and—“

“Ajax,” Zhongli interrupts. This time, it’s his turn to stare at Ajax with astonishment. His eyes, bright and golden, burn a hole through the spot on Ajax’s forehead where Zhongli was just poking at. The ginger can’t help but strain to look up as if he could catch a glimpse of what the half-dragon was looking at. Cross-eyed, he just looked ridiculous. And confused. He was so, so confused.

“What, what?” Ajax asks anxiously. Zhongli stares at him still, wordlessly reaching up to touch him again. The dragon’s eyes soften, brushing a knuckle right across Ajax’s cheekbone, right underneath a blue eye. The Harbinger sees, then, the gold that shimmers right beneath his vision. Zhongli’s expression is nothing short of enamored, astonished, and downright entranced.

“Is your hand glowing?” he asks. Zhongli shakes his head, listening, but not really. His eyes trail across Ajax’s face, too focused on the path that his hand takes more than anything else. He continues drawing lazy patterns across Ajax’s cheek, and the gold seems to shine brighter. “Xiansheng, what is going on?”

“Your skin,” he begins slowly, voice lowered into a hush. Ajax has to strain to listen to him. “It seems to turn to gold where I touch.”

“W-what?” Ajax scrambles, but Zhongli places a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“It’s temporary, love, do not fret. The spot on your forehead has already disappeared.”

“Wait, wait, I wanna see!” Ajax demands, suddenly sitting up straight. Zhongli follows suit and corrects his posture, holding his palm out as an invitation.

“Give me your hand,” he commands gently. The latter complies, and places the back of his hand in the warmth of Zhongli’s own.

The ex-Archon uses the tip of his finger to trace patterns into his hand, and the skin underneath responds immediately to the touch. It glows an ethereal shade of gold that has Ajax blinking away the spots that form in his eyes from the brightness. And although it goes away as quickly as it comes, it still leaves a tingling feeling across his skin as it disappears. Zhongli doesn’t so much as flinch at the brightness, though, as he continues tracing letters, characters, symbols he’s never seen before, into the palm of Ajax’s hand. The ginger shivers at the touch. It’s so intimate— it’s too intimate— he feels like he’s going to pass out. He can feel an energy so divine being pressed into the palm of his hand, sinking in through his skin and spilling into his bloodstream. Ajax’s heart beat picks up, a newfound energy coursing through his veins.

It is a blessing that no one could ever even imagine receiving from Rex Lapis himself.

Because gnosis or not, the being before him was a deity too precious to be touching a soul as blackened as Ajax’s. And yet here he was, accepting such a heavenly gift from Teyvat’s oldest god.

Ajax almost wants to pull away, but it is his pure curiosity that keeps him in place.

Zhongli continues his trail up the Harbinger’s arm, and this time, he’s drawing flower petals that bloom from thin branches. They encroach upon the inside of his forearm, streaming along his veins as Zhongli draws petal after petal. The half-dragon is quick— quicker than the rate in which the golden lines disappear. He sketches the design of his flowers rapidly across his skin, all while maintaining his gentle hold on Ajax.

The human canvas has no choice but to sit and watch with awe as the design seems to come to life. Blue eyes follow gold, attracted like a moth to a flame, and Ajax is simply unable to look away from the art Zhongli creates on his skin of all things. Ajax’s skin, freckled and marred by years of fighting, is being turned into a work of art made for his eyes, and his eyes only.

Once again, Zhongli has done what has felt like the impossible.

But of course, all good things come to an end, and Zhongli stops. With a flick of his wrist, he tapers the tip of the last petal he draws before withdrawing his hand entirely. Ajax watches with the same level of fascination as the golden strokes vanish as if they were never even there. Yet still, Ajax’s skin tingles.

“Any chance you knew you could do that?” he speaks after awhile, voice uncharacteristically quiet, pensive.

“No,” Zhongli answers, eyes flickering back up to him. “But to be honest with you, I do not wish to stop.”

Ajax’s eyes widen at the statement. “What do you mean—“

Zhongli’s hands grip at Ajax’s hips as he pushes him backwards. The Harbinger gasps, arms shooting out to wrap around his neck for stability. Zhongli crowds him in an instant as soon as Ajax’s back hits the floor. The ex-Archon noses at his neck, peppering kisses along the line of his jugular and watching with dilated eyes as a trail of gold is left behind where his lips once were. The feeling that blossoms in his chest can only be described as some primal satisfaction as Ajax is marked with his stamp of gold.

“I cannot help but wonder,” Zhongli speaks quietly, “if your skin would turn to gold while touching all parts of me.” His voice drops a whole octave. If it was deep before, it was even deeper now, closer to a purr than anything. The sound rumbles through his chest, making Ajax shiver at the noise.

Ajax’s breath stutters. “Oh,” is all he manages to say.

“If you would indulge my curiosity so kindly,” Zhongli begins, voice breathy, “I’d like to see you glow in many other places.”

“Oh my god,” Ajax blushes a furious red, “you have such a way with words, Xiansheng! And just do me already, you’ve never had to ask before!”

“I’m just asking because in this form, I might be… slightly different in some places.” Zhongli’s ears burn red.

“Oh my god,” Ajax all but sobs, “shut up and get inside me old man, make me glow, or whatever.”

Zhongli grins and oh fuck he has fangs, of course he has fangs—

“As you wish.”

Ajax does a lot more than glow that night. In fact, he gets so much more than what he initially bargained for. The sun begins to set, but the darkness that befalls the room matters naught when Ajax is turned into a human lamp every time Zhongli touches him. And gods above, does he touch him.

When Zhongli kisses him, his head spins a little more. When clawed hands squeeze at his hips and almost break skin, his heart beats a little faster. When one, then two, then three oiled fingers slip past the tight rim of muscle with care and makes him grind his hips down impatiently, his breaths come a little shorter. And when Zhongli finally, finally slides in and makes him forget his own name, Ajax can’t help the broken moan that flies past his lips when he bottoms out.

Holy shit, Zhongli wasn’t kidding when he said he was built a little different.

Though, they probably needed to gloss over the definition of a little later tonight because apparently, a little meant an additional three whole inches in length and half an inch in girth. The newfound length brushes past places in Ajax’s body he never even knew existed, scratching an itch he wasn’t aware he had.

Was Ajax expecting to be taking his boyfriend’s dragon dick at nine at night when he was supposed to be having dinner? No. Was he going to take it anyway? Absolutely. And in retrospect, Ajax was faring just fine. He had his legs wrapped tightly around Zhongli’s waist and his hands tugging at his loose locks. The amber ends glow brighter at every pull and Ajax just holds onto the strands for comfort at this point.

Zhongli, on the other hand, had his eyes shut and was breathing hard through his nose.

“Xiansheng?” Ajax calls tentatively. He reaches a hand out to cup Zhongli’s cheek, and almost gets distracted by the luminance his hand emits as soon as he makes contact.

“I’m alright,” Zhongli says through gritted teeth, “I’m having trouble… regaining composure, is all.”

“What do you mean?” Ajax gasps when Zhongli’s hips flex.

“You…” he struggles, “are very tight. And. My senses are heightened in this form.”

Ajax smiles wickedly, and squeezes around him. Zhongli hisses, biting down hard on Ajax’s shoulder. His fangs almost break skin, but the ginger doesn’t even flinch.

“Let me on top,” he says instead, “I can set the pace.”

“That might be difficult,” Zhongli begins tentatively, “laying on my back may not be an option at the moment.”

“What? Why— oh, holy fuck.”

Lo and behold, a long, serpentine tail is laid out across the blankets and thumps once, twice, happily in place. It’s thicker at the base where it forms near Zhongli’s body, and smoothly tapers out until the end is covered in silky, golden locks. Ajax swears it sparkles. The hair flows so elegantly across their floor, Ajax almost has the urge to reach out and run his fingers through it. And he would, if he currently wasn’t impaled and unable to move.

“... I apologize—“

“That is so hot,” Ajax almost weeps. “Please for the love of all Archons, Zhongli, Morax, I’m begging—ah!”

The lilt in his voice as he begs, whining the long lost name, has Zhongli moving before he can register what he’s doing.

Zhongli moves. He throws all caution to the wind and lets himself move recklessly without abandon. Ajax writhes beneath him and takes what he is given with gratitude, praying with breathless gasps and broken moans. Every noise that leaves his throat has Zhongli moving desperately for more. The light between them glows brighter, almost impossibly so, to where Ajax has to squeeze his eyes shut.

There's a moment where Zhongli grinds into him just right that sends Ajax crashing; his head is thrown back when he's all but forced to see stars, and his fingers scrabble to claw at Zhongli's skin for support. His back arches high off the bed and the ex-Archon uses the space to wrap a solid arm around Ajax’s lithe waist. He takes advantage of the bared neck in front of him and immediately noses at his pulse point, licking over the skin before sucking the flesh between his teeth.

They lose track of time in the throes of their own pleasure. At some point, the sun fully sets, but Zhongli continues to shove him down into the sheets relentlessly. Ajax on the other hand, takes it like a pro and continues to surprise Zhongli with his growing responsiveness. He takes and takes and Zhongli feels like he has no choice but to continue giving. The dance between them is elegant as much as it is animalistic, and Ajax loves it.

Zhongli bites down on his neck slightly, flexes his hips, and the breaking of Ajax’s pale skin and the relentless pressure against his neck has the ginger spilling between the tight press of their bodies. A dragon’s fangs, apparently, are by no means gentle and tear into his skin with ease. Yet, the blinding pain that sears through Ajax’s body sends him tumbling nonetheless. Zhongli fucks him through his orgasm, rutting against him until he tips over at the sound of Ajax's pitiful, overstimulated cries. He shudders as he empties into him, breathing hard against where his face is pressed into his neck.

They lay there for a moment; Zhongli tries to get his breathing under control, and Ajax tries to focus his vision after it had blurred during his climax. The ginger rakes his nails along Zhongli’s sweaty back, and the sensation brings them both back down from their high. Their breaths are heavy and labored, and Ajax can’t help the chuckle that leaves his lips when he finally calms down, because holy shit. He’s going to want to do that every night, now.

Sometime amidst their fun, the golden glow had dimmed, until it all but disappeared.

"You suck," Ajax gasps after a moment, "you just ruined vanilla sex for me."

Zhongli snorts. "I don't suppose you expect me to morph every time you want to be intimate?"

Ajax's silence speaks volumes. It’s silent confirmation. The latter looks up, disgruntled. He looks so unamused, brows furrowed and everything, it makes Ajax chuckle and kiss the frown away.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding, xiansheng," he waves him off, "the only thing I expect from you right now is for you to pull out, oh my god Zhongli, get out of me. You're like those huge dogs that think they can fit in your lap! You're not exactly small, mister Rex Lapis!"

"Oh, yes, my apologies," Zhongli murmurs. He presses a light kiss to Ajax's freckled shoulder before sliding out, muttering a quiet apology when he winces. He rolls off of Ajax and lays on his back next to him, so they're both staring up at the ceiling. His tail is gone and so are his horns, so he can finally lay on his back comfortably. Zhongli reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers. He gets a squeeze in response.

“Say, xiansheng,” Ajax starts. “Have you ever been able to do that before?”

Zhongli looks at him, silently asking him to elaborate.

“Turn someone’s skin to gold, I mean. With something as simple as touch, too. Has that ever happened?”

“No,” he answers simply, “I believe this was the first occurrence in my six thousand years of being alive.”

Ajax hums. “So I’m not like. Going to die or anything, right?”

“Why would you die, baobei?” Zhongli chuckles, “you act as if I injected poison into your bloodstream.”

Ajax lets out an indignant squawk. “I! Am still kind of new to the whole dating a god thing! I don’t know what special abilities you adepti hold. And I am a mere mortal, after all!”

The reminder has Zhongli looking at him with sudden sadness. “That you are.”

Ajax hums and offers a small, resigned smile before letting his eyes slide shut. He gave into the exhaustion, it seems.

He’s already dozing off, and his head is tipping slightly to the left. He’s all but slumped into the comforters beneath him, his chest rising and falling with each soft breath he takes. He’s mildly aware that he’s going to have to wake him to clean him up in a few minutes, though, but he allows his lover to rest for a moment. The whirring void in his chest— the one that constantly reminded him of his lost power— finally, finally settles.

Zhongli watches with fascination as the human in front of him continues to glow. The gold is gone, though. Zhongli has shifted back into his mortal form and skin to skin contact no longer summons the bright golden light that was there before.

Still, Ajax’s skin seems to glow a little brighter than usual. His cheeks are tinted pink and his lips are slightly parted, still plump and swollen from his bruising kisses. Zhongli swears he can see a light blue aura surrounding the lines of Ajax’s body. His chest fills with something warm and pleasant at the sight, thick like the syrup that runs through the veins of Liyue’s trees. It trickles throughout his entire body, down into his core, down his legs and to his arms. Zhongli no longer feels empty. He smiles fondly.

For those that live too long, the friends of days gone by and scenes from their adventures live on in their memories. As such, I have no regrets in meeting you, Ajax. Should the day ever come that we are not together, you will continue to shine like gold in my memories.

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#genshin impact #tartali #tartaglia #childe #ajax #zhongli #rex lapis #chili #targlex chapis #i'm unironically using that tag now #idiots in loveeee #dragon zhongli #part dragon zhongli #newfound dragon powers mhm mhm #childe gets ROCKED #genshin impact fanfiction #tartali fanfic

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currebunz · 4 years

Text

An Adventure’s Charts: Zhongli + Tea

AO3 Link

Six hours, that's how long Venti had told you Zhongli's tea would take. You helped him brew the tea, providing him with the leaves he had requested. It was supposed to be a luxurious blend suited for the finest of nobles in Liyue. And it would be if you had gotten the proper tea. However, the situation had provided you with the perfect opportunity to put the consultant for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor in the "mood". It wasn't that you could never get alone time with him like this, quite the opposite. Zhongli dedicated most of his time to making you feel like you were the most important person in the world. Because you were to him. Whether it be long walks down the streets of Liyue or a dinner he had made sure was paid for in advance, Zhongli never had to break plans with you. Of course, time in the bedroom was the same. All you had to do was call him or tell him your very desire. He would dutifully see to it that you were satisfied. The great Archon's skill exceeded simply wielding a polearm and left you tired by the time the sun was in the sky. And yet, you wanted to see how he would look when he was the one with overflowing desires. Those sharp eyes of his never told you what he was truly feeling.

The First Hour

"Hm? Have you already poured the water?" Zhongli asked as he noticed the kettle was gone. You were holding it securely, hoping he would stay away from the teapot. "Yep, leave it to me. I've seen you do it so many times now. I think I know how you like it" you smiled at him. Zhongli was quiet, but a graceful smile stretched across his face. "I see, I suppose you have a point. I must be careful if you are watching me so" he said with a chuckle. You set the kettle down, raising your brow at him. "And why do you say that?" you asked. You took a seat across from him at the small table in the room. Zhongli closed his eyes as if thinking carefully about his next words. But he was recalling his favorite memories of you, the times you spent together. His eyelids lifted and his eyes were shining with a soft light that nearly made you melt. "Because I wouldn't want you to see me at anything but my best," he said proudly. For a moment, you were touched. A hand was already over your heart as you took in his words. But then a playful grin slipped onto your lips.

"Then maybe you should forget your wallet less?"

The Second Hour

Zhongli had read to you the report he was given in regards to a Funeral he would be organizing. You always helped him prepare for it, as much as he would let you. Time and again, he reminded you that you didn't have to do work for the parlor was you were not employed there. But you had reassured him that you didn't mind and it gave you an excuse to spend more time with him. Hu Tao had also caught on to the few times you and Zhongli became "passionate" with your work. The master stated that you might as well work if you are going to play around in the parlor. You were just glad she let you back in. "Hm, we'll need more Glaze Lillies. I trust you will accompany me tonight to collect them?" Zhongli asked. "Of course, we can go after our tea" you agreed. Zhongli nodded, turning his report in his hands as he continued to tell you about the preparations needed. Hearing him talk so eloquently always made your mind wander off to the times he would lay with you and talk until you fell asleep. He would always ask you questions before telling you a story about Rex Lapis. As much as you wanted to stay awake, you always fell asleep hearing his soothing voice.

The Third Hour

Zhongli was looking over some papers while you were watering the plants around your shared home. Occasionally, he would bring home a new flower claiming it reminded him of you. A few times, you had to tell him he had brought back a vegetable or fruit. But he assured you it was on purpose and explained the many uses of the plant. You didn't have the heart to call him on his excuses, as you enjoyed watching the light dust of pink as he realized his mistake. "You see, I heard that you can make a good soup base with these chilis. Not only will you have a good meal, but we will also save money" he explained as if you didn't know. "Mmm, sure darling" you hummed as you watered your vegetables. If it weren't for you selling and giving away herbs, you'd have a full garden in your own house. The number of plants in your home a nice look, but Zhongli didn't only stop at plants. He occasionally brought back treasures and odd things as well. You had a nice collection of old relics and antiques he had acquired in the ruins during his exploration. From plates to hairpins, he would bring you back anything that he thought would put a glint in your eyes. "Do you like it?" Zhongli would ask. You would always stay quiet when he brought you back something. His eyes would slightly droop as he waited for your approval. Sometimes, you almost forgot to answer him.

"I love it"

The Forth Hour

You were sweeping outside and looking out at the harbor. Zhongli had let you pick where you wanted to stay and naturally you picked an area near the water. You were always calmed by the peaceful view of the large sea. Besides, it was cheaper than living in the mountains. Sometimes in the morning, the two of you would watch the sunrise and watch the sea turn blue. At night, you both would watch the sunset over the horizon before retiring for the night. On the more special nights, you would request Zhongli walk with you at night near the water. He never resisted you, creating soft moments as the two of you passed lotuses on the water. Your home was just big enough for the two of you, but sometimes you wondered if he would mind another one running around the house. The topic of children never came up, but it wasn't off the table either. Zhongli never had a problem with children and the kids around the area enjoyed talking with you. The broom in your hand squeaked as your grip had tightened on the broom. A cute image of a small child with Zhongli's features made you almost squeal in joy. Only his voice brought you out of your fantasy.

"The tea is almost ready"

The Fifth Hour

Whenever Zhongli made tea, there were always snacks. Only the finest of treats were allowed and Zhongli was always eager to pick something out for you. But after a while, he began to trust your taste and let you pick something not as expensive. But his favorite treats were the ones you made by hand in the kitchen. Zhongli would even eat the mistakes you made, offering you tips and encouragement for your next attempt. Knowing how peculiar he was, it had surprised you at first. But you knew why he still at your mistakes, even if he didn't admit it. "Your getting better at handling the rice cakes, you must mold it with the care of holding an egg yoke" he observed from over your shoulder. "It would help if you weren't always perched on my shoulder" you giggled. Zhongli's eyes widened and he stepped back a few steps. "I apologize, I simply enjoy watching you work is all" he apologized. But when he watched you he would walk closer without knowing. You were used to having him stand over you like this, you just liked teasing him like so. Once your treats were ready, you placed them on a dish and brought them to the table.

The Sixth Hour

"Hm, it has a nice aroma," Zhongli said with a satisfied smile. He was still unaware of your trick and you began to feel guilty. But you reminded yourself that the payoff would be worth it as Zhongli would putty in your hands. "It does, doesn't it? Is the tea ready?" you asked him. Zhongli nodded, taking out two teacups. As he poured the tea, you could see the amber liquid flowing into the cup. The way he poured tea was always so graceful as if he was serving a lord. It was simply another perk of being with Zhongli, nearly everything he did was beautiful. He waited until you both had a full cup before setting the pot back down. "Let us not wait any longer, you've been patient enough" Zhongli smiled at you. Grabbing your cup, you brought the rim to your lips. But you didn't tip the cup and instead looked at Zhongli. He closed his eyes as he sipped his tea. He always told you that doing so would allow you to envision the story behind the tea. But there was no way you could miss the sight of him when he drank tea. Zhongli was still for a moment, his brows furrowing. Then, he slowly set his teacup down. His neck bobbed as he swallowed and he slipped a finger into his collar around his neck. "I apologize for this, but I'm afraid I cannot allow you to enjoy this tea," he said as he stood up.

Before you could ask, Zhongli had walked around the table and lifted you into his arms. You held onto him tightly as he walked to your shared bedroom. He placed you onto the bed before loosening his tie. "It would appear there was an underlying effect in this blend, I cannot determine why but I feel as if you are the one responsible," he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. You were speechless as you felt him put his knee between your legs. "Therefore, I expect you are capable of dealing with the consequences of your actions" he continued as he reached for your cheek. His gloved hand cupped your face and his thumb stroked across your cheek. "The tea may have seeped for six hours, but I don't plan on stopping for much longer than that" he hummed in delight.

#zhongli #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #mild spice

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moonlit-imagines · 4 years

Text

The “Perfect” Couple

Natasha Romanoff x reader

warnings: alcohol, guns

a/n: i feel a lil gay in this chilis tonight

prompt: natasha and you were history, but still worked together. fury just paired you up for another mission, what could go wrong? or right?

You and Nat tried to keep things professional, but you also tried to keep a distance. After the two of you split, there were still some hard feelings. But you two do what spies do best, you lie and hide what could get in the way of a mission. The current mission was...to mask your true feelings about the breakup.

“Agent Romanoff, Agent l/n, I have a mission for you.” Fury called the pair of you over to debrief you, but this was already a bit worrisome. You and Nat? What was he thinking?

“A mission for the both of us?” You asked as you approached the director together.

“I’m glad to know you can hear, Agent.” He sarcastically and you held your tongue as Nat gave a sly smirk. “You two are going to be attending a gala hosted by a high-profile threat. As a couple.” You held your breath and waited for Natasha to comment.

“All due respect, sir, but why us?” She and you exchanged glances. “Me and y/n, we...” She paused and cleared her throat. “we’re not exactly on great terms right now.”

“Well, Romanoff, you two are my best agents, so you better learn how to get along on this mission.” He turned away and left you both a bit speechless. “And do not. Blow. Your cover. Agent Hill will be detailing the rest of the mission for you, I just needed to break the ice.” You noticed a little curve in his lips and heated up in the face, he could be so mean sometimes. But there was no getting out of this one, time to get professional. Next, pair of you would head to Maria for debriefing.

—————

Natasha was stunning in the deep red and black dress she chose to wear, you could just barely keep your eyes off of her and you knew she noticed. There was no doubt she was sneaking looks at you, too. God, you missed this, being such a power couple. Whatever room you walked into together, it was all about you and her.

You led Natasha through the crowd of fancy rich people who could all be tagged as criminals, but there was a special one you were there for. Nat and you had locked your arms together, but she used her opposite hand to clasp onto your arm, nails starting to dig into your skin.

“Is there a problem, ‘Natalie?’” You looked over to see a genuine looking smile on your face, but as a fellow spy, you could tell when she was faking it.

“No. No problem here, my dear.” She answered through clenched teeth before the two of you found your seats and felt a sense of relief from finally separating by just a foot or so. “Could I get some champagne?” Natasha asked the waiter and he quickly complied. “Thank you so much, you’re wonderful.” She took the glass and quickly began drinking.

“Are you done or do you need another? Because he have a job to do.” You rolled your eyes at her tendencies and waited for her to finish.

“If you want me to look like I’m enjoying myself tonight, you’ll let me drink, got it?” She set the glass down and took a quick glance around the room to see if there was any suspicious activity to check out. “Out of all the agents at SHIELD, Fury just had to stick me with you.” Your ex-girlfriend commented under her breath.

“Hey, Nat, I don’t like this any more than you do, but we agreed we would keep things professional and that’s what I plan to do.” You snapped at her while she gave you a tired expression, as if she didn’t care one bit for what you had to say. “We have a job and the sooner we get it done, the sooner we can go on with our lives.” Your disagreement seemed to be causing a small scene, a few pairs of eyes were on you. So Natasha leaned forward and pulled your face in for a passionate kiss, you hadn’t tasted her lips in such a long time.

“You were gonna blow our cover.” She swatted your leg as she pulled away. There was nothing fun about this mission, but that kiss sure brought back some memories. You could barely remember why the two of you broke up in the first place. You sat there staring at Natasha for just a moment more while she smiled at you, probably thinking you were pathetic for getting bit flustered from that. “‘Mx. Rushman,’” She started, “would you care to dance?”

“Sure thing, Natalie.” You took a deep breath and offered your hand to take her to the dance floor, a slower song was being played by the live band. “Remember how we used to dance in my living room?”

“How could I forget?” Nat placed her hands in the appropriate position and looked over your shoulder, if anything where to happen, you were literally watching each other’s backs. “You always stepped on my feet.” She switched her gaze back to your eyes and smiled.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry I’m not a perfect ballerina.” You scoffed and turned your head as you shook it. Her little chuckle took you back, as well. This night sucked because it made you feel like you were missing out, you wondered how Natasha felt. “Four o’clock.” You whispered and Nat inconspicuously took a chance to see what you were looking at. The target.

“Keep and eye on him, we’ll finish this song and then go after him.” She instructed, leaving you to accept that before you realized something was wrong.

“Wait, what?” You whispered. “You don’t want to go after him now? While we have him?” You asked your ex in disbelief, this wasn’t very typical of her, the mission always came first.

“I’m having fun dancing.” She admitted as her red lips curved up. Was she serious? “Don’t get too flattered, y/n...We’ll find him in a few more minutes.” Nat closed the gap in between the two of you and leaned her head on your shoulder as each of you swayed back and forth along with the music. “This mission could be worse, I guess.” You heard her mutter into your ear and you gave a little exhale out of your nose in place of a chuckle.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You remarked ask the song officially came to an end. “Wanna wrap this up now?” You asked as your felt a warm kiss on your cheek. “Natalie” grabbed your hand and led you to your target, this wouldn’t take long if you chose the right timing.

“Wait for him to enter that room right there, It’s empty for now, we’ll be able to get him without much of a hassle.” She told you over the comms as you separated. You watched from afar as your target entered said room and decided this was it, time to make your move. “Now.” She headed towards the door and you followed a couple moments behind. In she went to confront the wanted criminal, who quickly had his men come in...with guns.

“I thought Fury said this would be hard.” You shook your head in disappointment and equipped your own guns, pointing them at the wealthy mister that was about to go down. “If anyone moves, I shoot twice, you hear?” Natasha watched proudly with her own weapons out. You never went down without a fight, she admired that.

“Anyone feel like getting their asses kicked today? The party’s been a little dull, so we’re bored.” She paced the room, training her weapons on the goons she passed, it’s almost as if she smelled fear. “Yes, no, maybe..? Okay.” Your (ex) partner spun and kicked a goon right in the kneecap with the tip of her heel, making him tumble to the ground instantly. All hell broke loose from there as you fired your warning shot and charged for some hand-to-hand combat with the boys who wouldn’t last out here.

“Give it up, guys, we can do this all night.” You shouted as you fired a shot into another guy’s leg, causing him to fall instantly with a thud. “Did that hurt?” You asked when you passed him, going directly to tackle the target while Nat finished up her four-course beating. You restrained the crook as she gracefully walked over and kneeled down next to you.

“Huh, guess we still make a pretty good team.” Nat winked and helped you pull this guy up, then contacting SHIELD to come on in and take him away.

“Still hate my guts?” You cocked your eyebrow and saw her shining a grin that was as real as could be, seems the two of you had gotten over your differences on this fateful mission. Nick Fury was a clever SOB.

“I wish I could say ‘yes,’ but you’re just so hard to hate.” She wrapped her arms around your neck and brought you in for an amazing kiss that you knew was meant for you from Natasha, not from your alter-egos. Reconciliation, something you thought would never happen between yourself and Nat. “Can we get dinner tomorrow night? Call it a date?” She suggested as she pulled away, still keeping her face close.

“I think that could work.” You bit your lip to hide the giant smile fighting to show. “I have to say, we did some good work today.”

“No kidding, and we looked great while doing it, too.”

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#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #black widow imagine #black widow x reader #black widow #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #avengers #avengers x reader #avengers imagine

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heli0s-writes · 4 years

Text

III. Paralysis*

Summary: “I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around Bucky’s bicep, his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.

A/N: 9.8k words. OOF.

Warnings: Language, robots v. monsters violence, Big Time angst and comfort, smutty bits (dry-humping, thigh riding).

Trinity Epoch Masterpost

He leaves around sunset. Hair combed neatly to the side and freshly shaven, Steve’s dashing in a fitted suit and tie.

In the middle of passing around a basketball, Erik Killmonger, in all his subtlety, whistles, “Looking fresh, white boy!”

Steve smirks, smoothing the front of his jacket, “This monkey suit? I’d rather be in circuitry.”

He’s been laying low since Siegehook, since Bucky’s arm, and since you. But now the story’s changed and he’s gotta get his narrative straight— he’s introducing a new character, changing the players, and guiding the spotlight exactly where it needs to go.

Jimmy Fallon— Kimmel? One of the Jimmies personally flew into Hong Kong for a special taping of his late-night show. Orion racked up eleven kills; it’s another record and the people want what they want.

Fury called the three you of into his office after the network reached out for the umpteenth time. He strategized shrewdly to have Steve on this particular broadcast because it’s not as serious as a news report and not as wordy as an interview. Too many things can go wrong in both: cross-examinations, misquoting, scrutiny after the fact.

Steve works best in front of a live audience. He’ll sit down tonight—broad and tall—smile at the camera and the host, make a few charming quips, and then he’ll let the world know.

James has been hurt. The next breach will overlap his recovery time—don’t worry, everybody, fortunately, there’s a pilot available to step in and fill his place until he’s fully healed. And yes, he’ll be back soon, both in the Jaeger and on the show— I know you miss him, he’s even more popular than me, huh? Broody and quiet, right, ladies? He’s a hit!

Then he’ll laugh and field some questions about his new partner—but keep it vague for both yours and Bucky’s sake.

It didn’t need to be said. You didn’t want to be named, Steve didn’t want to make any assumptions for the future, and Bucky didn’t want to know if anyone thought he couldn’t pilot anymore.

Erik passes and you catch, sidestepping Thor and shooting over his figure which is no easy feat considering his massive height and the way Steve is staring you down. You don’t have to be hooked up to his brain to know what he’s wondering.

Since the trial run, you’ve been feeling the after-effects of the drift in oscillating waves. Sometimes you catch yourself standing ramrod straight, physically feeling heavier, knowing it’s him.

You okay? We talked about this. Yes, you are. No, you aren’t. It’s complicated. He’s fixes his tie the same time you spot a wrinkle. After-effects.

Erik jumps for a rebound when you miss the next basket, getting it knocked away by Thor’s enormous hand. Steve’s already gone when you look back, but Erik is passing again, and your next shot sinks through the net.

“That’s fuckin’ right!” He knocks his elbow into yours proudly, pushing sleeves over elbows until you can see the patterns of scarification up his arms. Feet back and forth on the scuffed concrete with distracted rhythm, you dribble, thoughts still on Steve.

“Hey,” a voice calls over the sound of the slamming ball. Barnes toes the edge of the makeshift court. A jacket is tucked under his arm, baseball cap atop his dark head. “Come on, it’s Friday night and you’re thinking too much. I wanna show you a place.”

He leads with confidence, directing the taxi in practiced Cantonese picked up over the last two years. Then, once disembarked, he peeks back every few minutes on the street to check if you’re still following. Your gait is awkward—steps firm, but lopsided. All off kilter and wound up like a spring.

It’s okay. In Bucky’s experience, food always helps. He’s taking you to his favorite restaurant—hole-in-the-wall Sichuan. He hollers over his shoulder, "You better be prepared for spice!”

Red lacquered doors open with a tinkering sound, a tiny overhead bell signaling new arrivals. A hostess steers through a path of similarly varnished tables and decorated chairs when Bucky asks for a quiet corner. Fish tanks of koi gleam green and blue. Chandelier scatters gold and white diamond shapes on a ceiling painted like a cloudy sky.

Hot tea first, and he sips carefully, gaze moving up to the T.V. behind your back when you’re busy flipping through the menu. A few more minutes pass of your furrowed brow sinking deeper and Bucky’s hand slides quickly across the tablecloth, nudging the booklet from your clutch.

“I got this.” And relief washes over your entire body like rain.

The appearance of entrees breaks your trance. Mai Gai, Char Siu Bao, Dan Dan noodles, and eggplant in garlic sauce—you’re trying to tell him it’s too much, wondering when he even ordered, but he ignores you. Not his fault you spaced out, he says, catch, and a napkin flies directly into your chest.

It makes you laugh, and Bucky secretly wants to tell you that it wouldn’t kill you to do it more often. Why the hell not, anyway? He’s tired of being upset about something that was largely inevitable. He knew the risk of death when they signed up to be Rangers so on the bright side, at least it’s his arm and not his head. At least it’s his arm and not his co-pilot’s. You’ve proven to be more than capable and proven to be someone he can trust with Steve’s life.

If Bucky had any doubts about whether or not that damned Rogers determination would see them through—they’ve been dispelled now.

The drift was sound. When Steve stepped out from the loading dock, he was lighter like half his weight had been sloughed off. When you followed, helmet pulled from your face, Bucky could see where it landed. Your hips, your shoulders, your jaw, all defiant—even if temporarily—coming down from the high of the handshake. Squared and strong, you looked at Bucky and certainty gleamed from your eyes.

You are Orion’s new pilot. He’s gotta give it up. It could be worse.

Bucky’s fingers shift as he unsnaps chopsticks and grabs spoons, the plates on his left clicking quietly, flexing his pointer when it sticks. Sometimes the prosthetic is a little glitchy because nothing’s perfect, but Stark and Shuri are constantly making updates. They use technology from the spinal clamp to connect his synapses, running tests on its reaction time, sensitivity, and functionality. He can feel pressure, but not pain, and wouldn’t it be nice if it applied elsewhere, too?

He passes your utensils over, wrapped loosely in a napkin. It could be worse.

“Hey Barnes,” you call earnestly, running your fingers over an embossed floral pattern on the paper, “Thanks.”

He’s not looking at you yet, firmly on a mission for soy sauce and chili oil. He makes a well of it in a ceramic dish and stirs with a chopstick, moving it to the center of the table, finding distraction in small tasks.

“...Barnes?”

“It’s Bucky,” he says finally, flicking his eyes to your hopeful face, “You can call me Bucky, alright? Usually that’s just for Steve, but you’ve been in his head—know me now, I guess. So you might as well. Hold your horses—I’ll serve you.”

Speechless, you put your hands in your lap and observe him scoop food, the syllables of his offered nickname tapping like a metronome over your curious tongue.

Bucky, you consider, watching the way he moves. Bucky, with his long hair pulled back and out of his cap. Bucky, his soft and worn hoodie, boots drumming gently against the table leg, eyes discreetly glazed over because he doesn’t think you notice the change in his mood.

Bucky, who made you laugh in the Jaeger hangar—even if he did threaten your life upon the first meeting. Who could have let you rot from boredom and worry, but instead took you into Hong Kong to his favorite restaurant without being asked to. Who could hate you—truly, truly hate you—for taking half his life from him, but instead is piling a mound of fragrant jasmine rice on your plate.

“What?”

“Bucky. I like it. It sounds nice.”

A clipped noise of displeasure, “Okay. Don’t fuckin’ wear it out.”

“Bucky...?” You murmur, sly. “Bu-cky. Buck-y.” The tips of his ears swell pink as you continue, emphatically pressing your lips together, letting your jaw hang open, pronouncing with precision. A bite of a steamed bun and you lick the edge of your mouth, “Bucky…hm…”

He sputters.

“Would you stop? Jesus, you’re annoying just like him— no fucking wonder— the two of you. Just fuckin’ darling.” His words are all run together with how fast his frustrated tongue moves, a healthy flush over his cheeks, spoon clinking on his plate.

It’s cute. Stoic, serious, James—Bucky Barnes– just a boy who can’t take a bit of flirting without lighting up like a candle. It’s fun. You like him, Bucky Barnes.

An unexpected ache overtakes you and suddenly Bucky looks more familiar than he ever has. Something excruciating about the soft crinkles of his brow, the way his generous lips draw back to reveal a sliver of his teeth.

He’s Bucky wiping the sweat from his collar in a dirty alleyway, jeans torn at the knees, bruises budding along his knuckles as he yanks up a troublesome blonde friend. Bucky, young and determined, helping Steve into bed every time he got sick.

Bucky, hovering pallid and broken in the drift, hurt and afraid but you felt his resolute strength in Steve’s head even as he howled in agony. Far off and shuffling in transparent layers until he was little more than a specter, but he was there.

His eyes lift again, raising to point you toward the T.V.

“There’s our boy.”

Our boy. And it keeps hurting.

You twist your torso as Steve steps out from backstage, waving and smiling, impeccably poised. He shakes Jimmy’s hand— silently mouthing thank you and hey because the cheering and yelling is too loud to hear him anyway. You try to stop thinking about Bucky anywhere but corporeal and whole across the tablecloth.

“Hey, Jimmy, how are ya?”

“Good—good, Steve. It’s so great to have you on the show again! Wow, you look great! Specimen.”

Steve chuckles modestly, tucking his chin to his chest, “Thanks, you do too.”

“Alright, no need to flatter me, we’re already in love with you, okay?”

You grin the same time Steve does, but whereas he continues to joke and enthrall two hundred people, you grow restless. Bucky refills your tea and drops a crumble of yellow rock sugar in.

“Relax,” he mutters, “It’s fine. He’s good at this. Eat your food.”

And you know this; you know him. Steve’s good when the questions get too personal and when there’s gaps in the conversation—when the cheering interrupts him or when his jaw ticks before he morphs it into a smile.

He’s good when he breaks the news to a hushed audience, gone eerily quiet like they’ve stepped on consecrated ground. Steve gives them those big blue eyes and the room immediately bursts into applause. Some people are crying. The host is shocked into wordlessness.

You feel relieved, getting what you pleaded for. No cameras. No questions. No pressure. The truth is aired, and Bucky seems pleased, too. You’re about to turn around, offer your full attention, thankful for his company, but then something else happens.

Jimmy blinks his stupor away from the blow of Steve’s confession. He takes a sip from his mug and after a short exchange of, thank you for your transparency, it must have been hard— wow I didn’t think you’d drop a bomb like that on us tonight! I thought I was the one with the ace up my sleeve— ha!

He points off-stage and says, “After that, I think you deserve a nice surprise, Steve. Ready?”

Tall, gorgeous, lightly curled hair cascading down her back—the surprise is a woman. She steps easily in heels, an off-the-shoulder red dress hugging tight to her body. Stunning. She waves to the audience and they go wild.

Steve shoots up to meet her for a kiss in front of the host desk, shaking his head in disbelief, tangling his fingers in her silky hair. There’s cheering again and the crying keeps on.

“Oh my god— Jimmy! You sly devil!” He’s overjoyed. “Baby— how’d you—I thought you were working.”

“I can always make an exception for my favorite guy.” She showcases perfectly white teeth and the high apples of her rosy cheeks.

It’s Ophelia Reyez, Steve’s model-turned-actress girlfriend of approximately six months. Her recent appearance on the Victoria Secret fashion show blew up the internet and her last Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover sold out in every gas station you went into.

Their first meeting was at a charity event—raising awareness about pollution in the Pacific, discouraging scavengers from harvesting Kaiju parts after battles. A picture of them standing two feet away made its way through social media the next morning her PR team made contact before noon.

So of course, it was decided; it’s a beneficially mutual relationship, after all. Doesn’t matter if he hates it or not—people don’t want to know that pilots live in a metal box and play basketball on Friday nights. They want to see Rangers in a role— monogamous relationships with beautiful people, white picket fence (or gated community) future in the making, and eventually plump-faced babies in strollers.

Steve’s now back in his seat, shifted so Ophelia is sitting in his lap, turned to the side. His hands are locked around her slender waist—an incredibly believable display of public affection. She kisses his cheek, leans her head on his shoulder, beaming brightly. If you were anybody else, you’d believe it; you have before.

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw,” you whisper in both awe and annoyance.

“Feeling it, huh?” Bucky speaks plainly around a bite of eggplant when he notices your jaw. That habitual and microscopic signal he’s grown to spot a mile away means Steve’s irritated and pissed off, and now it means that you are, too.

“Yeah,” you admit, shaking your head. You turn back to him, thoroughly bothered, having had enough of the performance.

“Uh-huh. Everyone’s a Fly—even her.”

You sigh at the label. Jaeger Flies, is what he’s saying. Ranger groupies. Derisive titles— and maybe deserved— for men and women who are attracted to pilots solely because they’re pilots. They want the opportunity to be famous or the privilege of being elite.

Even her, Ophelia Reyes. She’ll forever look at Steve Rogers as the Ranger.

Natasha always lamented—usually as she took her earrings off after a date, heels slipping off her pale feet—about another civilian man who worshipped her, and how that would be a dream for most people, to be so adored, so revered, but you always felt her sorrow in the drift mourning a love she couldn’t have.

She wanted the white picket fence. The normal life, normal husband, normal family. Her clean break from the past where monsters could no longer chase her in Decima and nightmares could no longer chase her at night. Behind closed doors, she was all torn open at the seams. And you’d wordlessly tell her shut up because she had a family with you. You loved her too, wasn’t that worth something?

She’d spiral and spiral and nothing was ever enough.

Your stomach twists and it keeps hurting.

Bucky pays for dinner. He asks as he pops a mint into his mouth, “Up for dessert?”

“God, Buck.” You groan, and Bucky takes a second to run that through his head again. God, Buck. Another thing like Steve.

“C’mon, I wanna show you another place,” he says thoughtfully, “Hold on to your hat, punk.”

A lighthearted swat to your back and then he’s shoving the ballcap hanging from his chair on your head.

The streets are lit with all sorts of colors as you follow him through the market, peering at vendors showcasing an abundance of food and miscellaneous items. You keep telling him you’re too full and can’t eat another fucking bite, but he only commands you to walk it off. The crispiest egg waffles are somewhere down this way, and even though he can’t remember the intersection, it should be close.

Between steps and dodging passerby’s, he relates his own experiences of brief PR relationships. A Russian woman one time, and a Greek woman another time. Cross-cultural because it made the PPDC look good—and it was all about looking good. He loathed it, of course, but he’d bite down a couple of months before their representatives would release those asinine joint statements about “conscious uncoupling” – schedules too busy, still have love for each other in their hearts, though.

“Couldn’t tell you those girls’ middle names. We’d get together just long enough for some media circulation—dates where we’d pretend to be offended when pictures leaked on TMZ.”

“Well,” you muse over a vision of Bucky leaned back on Steve’s mattress, returned late and bored of another paparazzi encounter swarming him in the lobby of some hotel. You know it like a dream—his ankles crossed, shoes shucked off, cracking his neck. Fuckin’ wild, Stevie. This girl. My knees ain’t what they used to be.

“Least you got your dick plenty wet, didn’t ya?”

He makes a noise like an engine backfiring—offended like you’ve pawned off his prized possessions or something.

“Jesus—you’re an ass.” He slams the bill of the cap down until it hits you in the nose. Another huff, more cursing, and then he’s saying fuck you before speeding off alone.

You chase cheerily, finding his chestnut head peeking over the crowd with ease because he’s tall and hard to lose in Hong Kong. A few more blocks down with him looking back surreptitiously to make sure you’re not lost, and Bucky ends up being the one who is actually lost.

“Shit. Can’t find the stand,” he grumbles, “Don’t give me that face. These are way better than the ones we passed earlier—fucking all soft in the middle—fresh pandan leaf, alright? You don’t get it.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” you laugh, feeling your cheeks grow tired from the way they’ve been lifted all night.

A stifled, hot breeze of urban downtown mixes with a chilly gust of wind, carrying Bucky’s petulance away though the throng. Blinking, you look around, craning your neck and shuffle to the curb. Stalls with hanging lanterns. Carts lined with pickled mango. Vendors grilling skewers of pork and cleaving roast duck into chunks.

You suddenly dart from him across the busy road and barely avoid a rickshaw balancing two enormous baskets of finger bananas. When you return, you hold up matching green popsicles. One gets shoved into his mouth, other one into yours. Pandan, like he wanted.

“Hey, it’s not bad,” you give it another taste. Lingering coconut, a little bit leafy, but not unpleasant. “Oh shit—cold!”

Bucky licks his lips, stinging red from the ice. You shudder loudly as brainfreeze hits, another chatter of your teeth following when a gust of wind whips through. He shrugs his jacket from his shoulders.

He calls you a dumbass after an embarrassing story about the time you skinny-dipped in a pond near The Icebox in the middle of winter. A handsome man, your eager libido, and a handle of whiskey had been involved. You giggle about being bed-ridden for half a week afterwards, but you got his number and a few good nights in his bed.

“Guess you’re not as boring as I thought.”

You whistle, “Sweetheart, I got stories that’ll put some hair on your chest.”

Bucky smacks you on the shoulder. “Ass.”

The Shatterdome comes into view much later.

What would have normally been a three-hour excursion, at most, has unintentionally into six and you’re nowhere close to tired—not quite ready for it to end. Bucky is bright with energy, too.

The past hours have been dedicated to recalling old tales. One led to another, threads pulled from the most insignificant of mentions—your old Boston Terrier’s underbite; Bucky accidentally knocking Steve’s bottom lip into his own braces in sixth grade and it swelled up so big he could hardly talk; Natasha, unable to pronounce fucking aluminum out of all the damn words in the world; you, unable to pronounce facetious; and then Bucky, trying his own hand at it and realizing he can’t either.

“Fa—fa-shish-shush? Fascist—tus? Factitious… Ah, shit.”

“Buck,” you gasp through another fit, “Bucky—you have to shut up. Oh—Oh my god—my face hurts.”

“Christ, who fucking made this word up?” He turns the corner toward the living quarters, shaking his head. Just you and him between the rooms and his steps slow at the advent of an inbound goodnight.

Bravely, now that you’re in more secluded space, you offer, “I can tell you more... if you want. Anything. It’s only fair.”

“Yeah,” he says, going quiet and careful. “If you want to.”

So, you take a deep breath, bookended by a nervous grin because other than Steve, the only person who knows anything about you outside a confidential manila folder is dead.

“Well, it might surprise you, since I’m just so goddamn talented—"

“Oh, here we fuckin’ go.”

“Kidding. I wasn’t good at anything,” you elbow him before fishing out your key. “Other than getting into trouble.” Clicks of the cylinder and your vault door squeaks open. “Lots of fighting—I was a small kid. Had nothing but the clothes on my back and just the biggest chip on my shoulder.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

Yeah. It’s funny. Steve’s alleyway fisticuffs might as well have been your own. You tell him as soon as the PPDC started recruiting again, you were in line. Their standards were confusingly specific and the tests they ran didn’t make any sense, but you passed and landed in Kodiak Island under the austere care of Stacker Pentecost.

Flipping the light on, you invite him inside. “I’d been in and out of foster homes. Barely had a high school degree. Got into… bad work. You know— what do homeless young adults with questionable moral codes do when their 9-5 isn’t paying the bills?” It’s desperate joke to break up the tension but he doesn’t take the bait.

“I’m not judging.”

You plop down on the edge of your table— a spotty metal thing pilfered from a vacated room. He takes the single seat in front of you, moving a dusty glass of water toward the wall, expression only showing attentiveness.

“Well, anyway…” you pause, “I was in the Bay Area after Trespasser— you know, scavenging. But, well, it changes your perspective a little when you’re sneaking through government tape at 3 in morning, stepping over flowers and memorabilia for all the deaths to crouch over a monster’s fucking toenail.”

“Hell,” a sardonic and self-deprecating grin, “I might have been a degenerate street urchin, but someone’s family got taken from them and here I was—monetizing their tragedy.”

Arching your back for more comfort, you splay your left leg over the surface, “Pentecost always said if I was lucky enough, I’d suffer brain damage or radiation poisoning, but might as well die in a Jaeger than in a ditch like I figured I always would. Son of a bitch had my number.”

Bucky’s lips are pursed lightly, eyes are tracing the path of your laces through bent hooks when you wriggle your boot back and forth. He spreads his hand over your ankle, keeping you still.

You swallow when he squeezes.

“Uh— I met Nat at Kodiak.” Bucky is warm. You oscillate between ignoring him and focusing on him, clinging to his hold instead of chasing the thought of Natasha too much. “We were… very similar. Childhood, um, troubles and all that.” You give him a pointed look and he makes a small noise of understanding with no intention to press for details, “She became my best friend. She was the first person I had. My only family.”

A nod of mock irritation and he says, “Yeah. Steve was always a part of mine. Sometimes they say they like him more than me. Can’t blame ‘em.”

“It’s the charm. They make it seem effortless, huh?”

“Fucker can’t take a bad picture to save his life.”

You laugh. “A smile like the goddamn sun!”

“One look into those stupid blue eyes and you’re a goner.”

“Criminally pretty.”

“Hah!” Bucky snorts, “Pretty enough for all of us.”

The floodlight on the wall casts darkness in the shape of your head over his shoulder. Lines of wayward hair caress his neck, tapered strands resting on his collarbones, chestnut glowing orange. His irises stipple forest green when it touches the light, smile nostalgic and lovely.

“Don’t be stupid,” you look at him for another minute longer, “You’re pretty, too, Buck.”

A raise of his brow. Bucky’s mouth opens and closes a few times vacantly. “Thanks,” he mutters finally. Then, bashfully, “So are you.”

Then, a cautious murmur of your name that you almost miss, and he’s peering up at you, deliberately soft. Bucky’s thumb knead small circles over the stitching of your jeans.

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

You loved her, didn’t you?

The years sweep through, passing over your face in a range of rapid-fire emotions. Bucky watches them change like shadows of a bonfire. Delight, amusement, longing. Anger, despair, grief. Deep and unforgiving because she was your whole world—all you had— and she left too soon.

You inhale and it sounds like a sniffle— exhale, and it sounds like a sob. No going back now; you did promise him anything.

You loved her, didn’t you?

Of course you loved her. Natasha-fucking-goddamn-Romanoff. Yeah, of course you did.

You loved her like a sister. You loved her like a lover. You loved her in reflexive ways, like mother’s intuition, finding your motivation in the need to protect her even though she hardly ever needed protection. You loved her like precious gems. You loved her like she was made from your own rib. You loved her enough to love unreciprocated.

“Well, you spend years living with someone, in their brain, learning everything about them— every decision in and out of their control that led them up to who they ended up being. Their—all their impulses and all the things they think about themselves. How—how they hate themselves sometimes.”

You’d always said you were the stupid one. Too stupid to reflect on the past and too stupid to let it burden your conscience the way she’d let hers. A running gag whenever her hand jammed putting on a lipstick she’d worn a million times and you’d finally have to do it for her.

Cheer up, Nat. You’re too pretty to cry. You’d line her lips, pat in rouge delicately, encouragingly. And then you’d shut up because there was nothing you could tell her. A million reassurances rolled off her back because they only made her feel worse. She clung onto your care like another weapon in her chest because she couldn’t return it even though you told her you wanted nothing from her but happiness. Jesus Christ, Nat, I thought I was the stupid one.

“When you know someone like that, it’s easy, isn’t it? You see them exactly for who they are and suddenly there’s no longer the concept of good or bad. What else could I do but love her? Especially when she thought so little of her damn self—tried everything to be someone else but—Jesus, if you only knew how radiant she was—”

You shut your eyes. “A smile… like the goddamn sun. Ah, fuck—"

And now you’re crying. You haven’t cried about Natasha in almost half a year because it’s something you track like the entrance bay’s war clock. Five months. Ten days. Zero again.

You’re choking back too many words and you don’t even know why you said all of that. You start apologizing, rattling out more, too much again, desperately like a prayer, pitch escalating higher and higher. “She deserved everything. A life that was completely—solely—hers. A life that made her happy— and why— why her?”

Why not me?

Bucky hears it in the silence. Watches it descend like a funeral shroud, weighing you down until you look as heavy as Steve on his worst days—when he stares at Bucky’s arm, like Bucky can’t see, can’t feel him there. And he knows Steve is thinking, why not me?

Bucky rises to his feet, stepping next to your uselessly dangling leg, resting his left hand on your shoulder and you grasp him, clutching achingly tight, torn to bits. And it’s too much all at once.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around his bicep, then his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.

You’re smashed into little pieces, barely keeping your head above water, holding it all in, and no one recognized how you were drowning the entire time.

Solemnly, curiously, he feels like he’s seeing you for the first time but not quite, remnants of familiarity sparks in him—the filmy plastic layer of an old photograph pressing down to reveal something he once knew and finally knows again.

You make helpless noises, staring numbly ahead, tears rolling out like marbles to drop into your lap.

Bucky shakes his head, “I’m fine,” he whispers gently—frustrated—brow furrowed, his fingers rubbing the salt from your chin, “Quit your blubberin’.” He tilts your face up to the light, watching you take a shuddering breath, exhausted from unearthing buried skeletons.

It's wet when he kisses you, supple flesh chapped around the edges from anxious gnawing, swollen hot from weeping. It’s soft and quick, and then he pulls away.

“St—sorry,” he says, mouth pressing into a thin line, lips drawn in and tentatively licked. “Sorry, I don’t know… I don’t know why I did that. I shouldn’t have.”

Your eyes are sad—big and vulnerable, inflamed red, confused, worried, something else weaving through the damp gaze. Your strong, small fingers are still tight on him, and even though Bucky pulled away and apologized, he rushes forward again.

His free hand curls around your neck, supporting your head. Lips part and close, pressing firmly, expertly, naturally. It feels like he’s kissed you before and missed it— like a kiss he’s been waiting on for a long time.

Banging on your door jerks him away. You careen off the tabletop, smooth the back of your hair, wipe your face and the vault creaks open.

“Marshal,” Bucky greets.

“Rangers…” Fury’s steps are suspicious, phone in his hand aglow. “I thought we had a plan.”

Your heart is beating too fast, the press of Bucky’s plush lips still warm, the scent of his skin still near. You sense it like an imprint, feel it like a brand. The room spins with an onslaught of possible scenarios—all horrendously unclear.

“Care to explain this to me?” The marshal turns his phone toward you, the lit screen displaying a photo of a dark street, illuminated by red and yellow lanterns. A thick crowd is spread around stalls of fruit and knick-knacks.

The headline reads James Barnes Spotted in Hong Kong with Mystery Woman, and the two of you are circled inside a red ring. You’re teetering off the curb of the sidewalk next to a sewer grate. It’s grainy and distorted, but Bucky’s striking features are clear.

“And this one?”

Bucky’s cap on your head, popsicle sticks between your teeth and his.

Steve Rogers on Jimmy! Jimmy Barnes on a Date!

James Barnes Officially Over Penelope Mercouri.

James Barnes’ Injury?

Fury tucks his device back into his coat. “Not that I care what you get up to on your spare time, but we had a tale to tell. It’s hard pushing an agenda when you’re pushing the wrong way.”

“We just got dinner,” you stutter, an upsurge of guilt rising. The speculation, the kiss, the gut-wrenching reflex that feels like a crime. Fury’s calculating now, looking from you to Bucky, assessing the situation with some pity because you truly look pitiful.

“What you got is PR on cleanup. Potts has been trawling Twitter for the last 20 minutes. For someone who doesn’t want to be in the public eye, you’re making a lot of noise.” He points to Bucky’s jacket still over your shoulders.

You tear it off. “It’s not—”

“Oh no—I won’t be losing sleep any over it.” The marshal’s single eye blinks calmly, “She can spin the story, but you become responsible for this.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, Ranger, that the spotlight is on you now. And there is nowhere to run.”

And if you didn’t think it could get any worse, footfalls down the hallway reach your ears in a pattern that you recognize immediately. Here he is, stepping into your room like it’s his own, suit jacket over his forearm, shirt halfway untucked and tie pulled loose. His lips drawn together and unreadable.

But you read it: Steve’s seen the pictures, too.

And goddamn, if you didn’t think it could get any worse— the earsplitting alarm announcing sudden movement in the breach startles you all.

“Orion Bravo, report to Bay 08, Level B. Codename Polidori. Category 2 Kaiju.” Shuri’s reedy voice is collected but critical. The thin screen next to your bed blinks on primary colors, wavy lines of activity rising and falling, counting down until emergence. Three hours.

Banner streams down the hall. The ruckus drowns him out.

Fury’s dark skin is ochre beneath the lights, “Category II,” he says, “Should be achievable. Odinsons will be on standby, guarding the Miracle Mile. Maximoffs on the coastline. They’ll come to you if necessary. Shelve your personal troubles, Rangers, we’ll continue this conversation later.”

Circuitry. Battle armor. Helmet beneath your arm. Muscle memory cuts down the time to seven minutes until you’re set to board, but you need more. Just a few—you have to tell him—better now than later—better from your mouth than from the drift. So, you blurt, “Bucky kissed me.”

Steve turns.

“We kissed. It—it’s nothing. I just needed to tell you before we get in. Didn’t want to seem like I’m hiding anything—I’m not.” It sounds so stupid, like a child admitting fault for breaking a window with a too-hard throw. It sounds like betrayal.

His helmet is gripped tightly in the crook of his elbow. Steve’s chin juts out incrementally, chewing on the inside of his lip, the air around him gone stagnant until he makes a noise both like a scoff and a hum.

“Sure. Fine. I get it—you’re lonely.” It’s worse than any response you expected to receive. “You know what I mean.”

It must be a testament to the depth of your connection now— you knowing him, him knowing you in all the ways that can make an argument escalate into atomic warfare. Precision strikes and then the two of you walking Ground Zero in its aftermath.

“Wait—you think I’m lonely?” You block his way out, furious. “What the fuck does that— have you met yourself? Girlfriends who will never see you for who you are. Ophelia Reyez? Katherine Lau?”

Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.

“I know exactly what I’m doing—do you? I spent all evening on T.V. for you--”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, Mister Martyr in front of a drooling audience telling white lies and screwing a Victoria’s Secret Angel in some penthouse suite— such sacrifices you’ve made in my honor.”

Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.

“What the fuck have you done lately?” Steve snaps, “Other than try to fuck my co-pilot?”

His words hit like a kick in the goddamn teeth. You slam your helmet into his chest and the polycarbonate shells knock together violently.

“I’m your fucking co-pilot,” you snarl, “You wanted me.”

Steve steadies himself, twisting until he’s snarling at you down the bridge of his nose, “Enough. We’re being hailed, I’m not breaking this record because of you, and not for a Category II. Get your shit together.”

You grind your molars when he pushes you aside, stumbling on shaking legs. Your brain feels gnarled—misshapen and bent up in sharp, jagged points—and as much as you want to stomp his goddamn face in, he’s right: you can’t feel this way. You can’t. It’s your first drop in two years with the best pilot by your side—and you’re responsible for his life. The last one proved disastrous, and you cannot risk that again.

Your suit feels heavier with each step. When you climb in after Steve, the rig feels more obstinate. Your head, chest, heart are all swollen with turmoil and hot rage.

He’s next to you, breathing deeply. You mimic, shelving personal troubles like the marshal commanded.

Out of alignment, the automated voice of the system calls, and you push it back further, grabbing the entire shelf and hurling it into the depths. Steve sends you an incisive look. A blame. You take a breath, another, and another. Fuck!

“Orion.” The heads-up display spotlights Bucky’s face in the control room, emotionless. “Focus.”

You inhale one more time, seeking reassurance in his unwavering gaze—necessary peace in the silhouette of his phantom left arm. Bucky. Steve. Natasha. You. There can be no more loss. You cannot let it happen again.

Levels stabilizing.

To your right, Steve makes a noise like he’s shaking something off.

Neural Handshake complete.

Bucky stands behind the glass, watching aircrafts lower their hooks. A nod of his dark head is the last thing you see before Orion is lifted from the hangar.

There would be a fucking storm.

You’ve always hated fighting in the rain because Kaiju are enormous, slippery, alien amphibians, and Orion’s left fist slides off more times than you’d like. This one’s much smaller than Orion, which allows it the slight advantage of speed, slicing through the water like a shark, corkscrewing for an extra boost of velocity before emerging with a splash from behind.

A miss when you and Steve weave away, hazarding a minor scratch to the right shoulder before Orion’s shield knocks it back.

Despite the vexing evening and the simmering hurt in the pit of your chest, the drift is steady. So, you take it for what it is, cast the rust off your bones, and the two of you do some fucking damage on this thing.

Banner named it Polidori, after the writer credited with inventing the vampire genre. K-Science sonars detected protruding fangs and petal flaps folded on its back like vestigial wings. So, Polidori, he shrugged, it’s cute.

You discover with swift horror that the flaps are neither vestigial nor cute when Polidori pulls one sliver of leathery skin free with a splat. An atrocious shriek rings over the storm as it struggles with its own body, then another shriek and the left pillar continues to stretch, knobby blunt end of its shoulder blade shooting high, ripping itself full of gaping holes in its endeavor.

Banner was more accurate than he realized.

“Orion!” Shuri’s voice is sharp, “Bring it down! Do not let it into the air! Use your cannon!”

You’re frozen stuck, eyes squeezed shut at the sight of stretched membrane. A terrified whimper and a puncture of nauseating memory nicks at Steve’s concentration.

No! Levels spike on the HUD screen. Fuck! Steve is caught in the undertow and the rig jams beneath both your feet.

“Orion! You’re out of alignment! Orion!”

She’s here.

Natasha’s bright hair is unfurling all around you. There’s deafening splintering when the incisors of her killer punctures through Decima’s chest and both her legs. Metal grinds against metal, the sound searing itself into your eardrums—your brain—your heart. Wings are beating—wild flaps of rubbery sails against the downpour—muffling screams from Decima’s cockpit.

It’s as real and cruel as the last time you saw it.

Bi Fang, like the bird from Chinese mythology, beaked and blessed with flight to make up for its one leg. Bi Fang the Kaiju was legless, and Natasha was convinced Decima could take it. You had no reason to think otherwise; five previous kills cultivated your confidence. You had her by your side, after all. Two orphans with something to prove, proving it again and again.

Wings and fangs? No legs? Six is an auspicious number. The smirk on her lips blooms fiercely. You’re laughing when Decima hovers above the water. Alright, Tasha. Six drops.

A tremendous splash and you touch ground.

She grins. Six kills.

Polidori has one limb fully flexed, fragmenting pixels bending into the shape of Bi Fang. Natasha is bending, too, lowering her center of gravity. Her elbows are against her ribs, fists set. This is gonna hurt. Come to–

Come to me! To me!

He’s stepping in ink. In water. And then metal is beneath Steve’s feet. There are flashes of rain, lightning, and he recognizes her dead center of the storm.

Natasha Romanoff, vibrant and joyful through the glass of her helmet. You, next to her, reciprocal smile on your face stuck in hysteria, tears streaming down your cheeks in wide stripes. Steve’s hand is reaching but going nowhere. Echoes overlap of crying and shouting. Yours. Hers. His.

Come to me!

He yells again, but you’ve chased the rabbit too far.

Come to me!

He’s trying his hardest, stretching himself like ropes to bridge the fissure. He feels your fear, your hurt, and for a flash, it eats him whole, spits him out a twisted-up way and his brain screams for Bucky.

Bucky is doing the same through the control room, reaching his will out to Steve, praying their connection still holds despite their distance. He’s yelling for you, too.

“Steve! Get the hell out of it! Steve, you need to get her!”

The ripping of his red left arm loops three times in quick succession before Steve can temper it down. Bucky is howling, crying, sobbing. Steve is breathless, stuck, rattled, steeling his entire body to witness the amputation for another inescapable replay until your frozen body smears across his blurry field of vision.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Bright whites burst behind his eyelids. Flares of panicked emotion. Bucky. Natasha. Him. You. An endless rippling chain of trauma lashing Orion open.

“Come on— Steve! It’s moving! Steve!”

“Buck! I’m— I’m okay! Just— need a second.” Steve scrambles for his sanity, latching on, knowing Bucky’s well— alive and not hurt. Shuri begins urging him to get up faster. Polidori’s moving slow, but it is moving, and it needs to be put down now. She’s calling for the Odinsons—Colossus, be prepared to walk-

The metal under Steve’s feet slides away. Water returns, ink flowering behind it—molasses and murky. His steps are unsteady, chest heaving as he advances through a field of speckled glimmers like fireflies at dusk. Each flicker reflects an agonized shard of your distorted face.

A flit of your voice rushes behind his head. Steve whips around and tries to catch it but no such luck.

Again, to the right, then gone each time he spins. It builds and builds until he feels half-deaf, frantically invoking your name into the ether where it becomes lost in dissonance. Butterfly-winged iridescence scatter and plummet, shrieking, shrieking, shrieking.

Then, nothing.

He finds you crumpled over on Anchorage’s shore.

Decima reaches sand as a crackling mess of Jaeger parts, chest piece ripped clean off the right side. You clamber out of the rig, hugging Natasha’s mutilated corpse. Your drivesuit is split open down to the hip, the glass of your helmet fractured and splattered with blood from your nose– still dripping.

He shakes his head, attempting to free himself of your scarred clutch. You had been hooked into the rawest fear—linked up when she died— gored and broken with half your brain believing it is also dead. Chills race up his spine and breaks him out in a cold sweat. He feels strangled to his very soul.

Then, seizures take you—the casualties of solo piloting—the neural damage come to collect. Nobody know how many miles you steered Decima alone and truthfully, it should have killed you.

Your eyes roll up to the sky, body convulsing before slamming into the ground like a rag doll, shaky fingers still reaching for your co-pilot. Steve shudders quietly, flinching with each impact. A final wail and everything slackens to a dull vibration. You quiver on the sand, howling and crying for Nat.

Polidori’s right wing casts itself loose, jaw opening wide. Steve’s on a time limit; there are only a few grains left in the hourglass. He croaks your name.

A second of recognition triggers from behind the curtain and it’s miraculously enough for you to see him. It’s enough.

He begs. He begs on his goddamn knees, crawling to you.

Look at me, only at me. Come back to me, please. Please. Please.

Steve gathers you in his arms, both of you trembling and afraid. Your suit heals itself, pieces stitching back together, blood little by little disappearing from your nose. Natasha shimmers away.

He presses the glass of your helmets together. He needs to get closer.

Steve? S-Ste-Steve—Steve?

You’re still crying. You’re breaking his heart.

Yes. I’m here.

St-Steve, what d-d-do I do?

You’ve got me now. I’m here with you. You understand?

He can see you struggling to escape, consciousness clawing with nails and teeth to return to the present.

Yeah. Y-Yes.

We have to move.

Steve—Steve—everything hurts.

Just for now. Just for a little bit—but I’ll make it better, I promise. Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. Will you hold on to me? Do you trust me?

Y-yes… Yes, yes. I trust you.

The rig lurches back to life beneath his feet. Jittery and creaking with strain, Orion rocks forward with a rumble. The drift stirs once more, noise giving way to silence.

Steve’s vision clears. You’re back in the present, precariously grounding your strength inside his guidance. You raise an unsteady left arm. He powers it up. Energy surges through the cockpit, tremors running up your side as it charges. Your hand splays. Steve’s palm takes aim.

Activating plasma cannon.

The beam pierces Polidori’s shoulder and its roar chases a simultaneous thunderclap.

A crack of lightning flushes the sky purple. Orion’s right arm lifts high above its head and slams back down, the glowing hot edge of its shield cleaving through Polidori’s skull.

Bucky’s grip on the control room’s railing feels like it could warp metal. Wilson is on his right, other pilots in a row next to him. All is silent.

Through the relay of Orion’s camera, Polidori’s writhes one final time. A death throe—pathetic trilling drowned by rising water, falling into deep darkness. Overhead, Kaiju clean-up advances, jet engines rumbling behind an ashy horizon. Orion’s shield retreats to its side with a wet, sloppy sound. The handshake pulled through. Steve got to you.

Abruptly, the room vibrates with the shouting of about fifty voices. Sam is banging on the railing, strong fists rocking the entire length of it, roaring with glee. The others are even wilder— shoving each other in triumph.

Bucky tunes it out, waiting for quieter confirmation. He can hear the both of you despite the racket. Steve’s steady pants, cut with throaty relief—this one, Bucky’s familiar with. Your small, weak sobs strangled with tears—this one, he’s quickly learned, but knows now in his bones.

“Twelve drops,” you announce hoarsely. Raw. “B-Buck?”

He grins, dazed comfort rushing over, your voice chasing the torture away.

“Twelve kills, sweetheart,” Bucky says, “You did it.”

The raucous celebration in the Shatterdome simmers down around four, sunrise just a couple hours behind the horizon. Unruliness had broken out, triggering a party that lasted from the time Orion got picked up ‘til now, and still there’s chatter in the common room.

It’s normal; Anchorage celebrated too after most kills—as long as no one died.

You’re freshly showered and changed, barefoot as you patter it back to your room. Voices from other beds are lowered as you pass—friends taking banter back to private spaces, couples pressed up against each other. All standard-issue revelry to commemorate the endurance of life.

It’s how these things go. Violence on a massive scale, humanity threatened with extinction—the people closest to death feel it the most. When routine becomes monotony, it’s good once in a while to be stimulated again.

Damn near two thousand people in close quarters—Rangers in perfect form, friendships assembled on the foundation of sharing an exceptionally singular purpose. Even Pentecost in all his grave formalities couldn’t ward off human nature. Plenty of pilots hooked up with each other and other staff in Anchorage and no one cared as long as it didn’t muck anything up on the job. At least the marshal could control that; mishandle your personal relationships and you’d be off the docket for your next drop.

Sex is biology. Desire is human.

It’s hard for you to feel human this morning. Exhausted by the fight and the prior evening—awake now for over 24 hours, you broke away from the commons as soon as you arrived, spending an hour simply breathing in the steam, the habit achingly comforting. Your chest still feels tight, heart bloated with invasive flashbacks.

You used to decompress with Natasha. A few drinks, tales from the cockpit, shadowboxing and putting on a show, glad to be in the company of friends— to be back safely with each other. Then you’d scatter with the crowd, meet her in the showers, and help her wash her hair in silence. Nothing but the trickle of shampoo down the drain.

She’d cry, sometimes. Catharsis, mostly. Curled up in your arms, the both of you cozy in pajamas on the floor. Then off to bed where she’d climb under your sheets, falling sleep with her head on your shoulder, your fingers in her hair.

A love unspoken. A home in the shape of a twin-sized bottom bunk. Cramped and narrow. Too brief.

You sigh. Everything hurts.

A few rooms away from yours, Steve’s door is open just enough for a line of orange to escape. You know he’s there, waiting patiently as he has been. You went near catatonic on the way back, lying down in the cockpit, no longer needing to be hooked up. You shed the armor, holed yourself into the corner of Orion’s hull, and said nothing when he sat by your side.

Walking in front of the light, he places himself in the entrance way until he’s looking at you. His face is a gentle blue shadow, resplendent halo glorious behind his head. He’s dressed in soft pants and a t-shirt damp at the collar. A droplet of water runs down his neck.

It emerges like an orchestral arrangement. Leisurely notes creep into your ears—a tune you’ve always known. Plucks of strings, escalating windchimes. It echoes, the trails on his skin, his measured breath, his percussive voice layering and pleating until there are dozens of him.

Look at me. Come to me. I need you.

You feel it all at once. A knotted, chaotic tempest. Hesitation. Confusion. Ache. Bucky. Him. You. Your eyes lock with his. A mistake and a revelation.

Steve holds out a steady hand. You take a step, terrified, pulled into his overwhelming atmosphere like magnets, your bodies humming a secret frequency, purring for each other.

The drift opened everything up, but the battle tore it all out. The both of you are laid bare, everything else fallen away.

Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. You’ve got me now, you understand?

You reach the shadow he casts, eclipsed entirely by his bulk. Steve threads his fingers between yours and with a tug, you surrender your worries to him.

He’s kissing you before the door is entirely shut and latched. He fumbles for the locks, wraps his arms around your waist. A click and a clatter. He moans into your mouth.

You exhale from deep inside your chest. He inhales like it’s all the oxygen he needs.

Your hands move to one place, his hands to another. Before your bodies can savor it, the both of you have roamed on, reading each other’s minds, knowing what’s next.

More. More. More.

It’s impatient and fast and Steve picks you up with ease. You forget yourself, forget the world outside the room, outside the three-by-three tile area of where he’s got you lifted, legs wrapped tight around his hips. Fingers dive into the back of your pants, squeezing, up your shirt, pawing at your breasts.

His groans blow heat onto your neck. You arch away, giving him more skin to brand kisses onto. He nips at your throat, light, then again, rough. His voice is raw and thick, husky little clouds making their home on your body.

Gentle sucking on your bottom lip follow each kiss. He takes you to bed, dropping himself onto the mattress, you on top of him. He’s been in your head; he knows what you like. Knows where you want him. Your voice is getting higher, sounds quick and shallow.

Steve guides you with one hand on your hip and the other beneath your thigh, soft pajama bottoms pressing against his. He groans each time you rock forward, needy for more contact against his groin.

You’ve been in his head, too. He likes feeling hands in his hair, so you grip his flaxen strands. He likes hearing, so you make a little more noise. He likes seeing his partner helpless because of him, losing all control, falling apart for him.

So you do.

Pleasure rushes from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, his name burning in your throat. It’s an incredible shock and you’re spellbound, enraptured by him drinking in the parting of your swollen lips. Quickly, he places you on his thigh, enormous and strong, needing a better position to see— to feel you on him. Hungry attention, eager eyes, pleading like a mother tongue.

“Keep coming for me. Just like this— don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

The shamelessness of it—your underwear soaked to your pants. The fever of it—his body like a fire, low, husky begging just from watching lighting up your spine. It’s extraordinary adrenaline— the heightened and profound connection of knowing one another in every way—as if you were made for each other.

Animal instinct liberated from human sentience. Desire pursuing release. Two bodies colliding and igniting.

You can’t stop the next cresting wave, crying out again.

Steve pushes you on his leg repeatedly, back and forth, solid and firm between your thighs even as you shudder and whimper, telling him it’s too much— you’re too sensitive. He kisses your neck, jaw, chin, cheek. He doesn’t stop moving.

“Hold on to me.”

A bead of sweat collects on the dip of your cupid’s bow. He looks at how sweetly your skin shimmers as you shiver, how your pupils are blown wide, how you look so perfect to him. He presses his forehead to yours, looks into your eyes like the way he did in the drift.

You reach for him and rub in quick strokes, fumbling when he rocks you back, gripping when he rocks you forward. Parted lips hover, “One more time for me—ah, please,” he begs, “Before I do.”

But he’s too late and too heated. Steve makes a mess of his sleeping pants, taken over the edge by how you feel without hardly feeling you at all. He buries a groan into your shoulder, riding it out with indelicate thrusts into your palm.

“Oh,” he murmurs, “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.”

He’s blush pink and beautiful when he remembers himself again, rubbing his cheek against yours. He knows what you’re thinking— the realization in the comedown, the leaching fear of what could have been a mistake. But it isn’t, and Steve remains faithful to your body.

“Stay. I’m sorry—for hurting you. I’ll make it better.” Velvet kisses to your lips and you shake your head, apologies no longer necessary.

A whisper of his name like it’s the most radiant word. You cling to him, kissing him, answering only to him.

In the afternoon when Steve is still sleeping, you retreat to your room. You pause at the sight of Bucky already on your bed, caught in the bleary focus of his gaze. With lashes soaked wet, his throat constricts around a forceful swallow.

“Hey,” he says, voice breaking on the syllable. He pats the space next to him and you come sit, turning your knees until they knock into his.

“Bucky…”

He laughs like you’ve told a joke, like the sound of his own name is a funny thing escaping your mouth. “Hoped I could catch you last night, before—” he laughs again. “—Before bed. Just wanted to—I guess I don’t know what I wanted to do.”

The hurt resurfaces. You find him through the rose-dappled lenses of Steve’s eyes. Those warm summers with two boys running wild, effortlessly devoted to each other. Your heart swells like you’re there, gazing at russet locks flying in the wind. Years and years between them—Bucky’s smile, lopsided and carefree. Steve’s gaze, illuminating Bucky in every memory.

“Bucky,” you say again, so wonderfully soft, he thinks, even as his chest feels stretched to bursting. “You love him.”

He places his temple on your shoulder, face hidden by the long strands of his hair.

“You’ve been in his head. He’s easy to love.”

“Yes,” you agree, touching his bangs, pushing them over his ear, streaking four affectionate lines through, “He is.”

“So are you.”

Bucky turns into your palm, smiling openly, like the truth is the simplest thing in the world.

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #pacific rim #marvel #reader insert #fanfiction

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westallenfun · 4 years

Text

Two's Company (3/3)

Westallen secret santa gift

For: Lauren (@backtothestart02) (Happy holidays! I hope you like this fic!)

From: Lina (@cheryls-blossomed)

A/N: A special thank you to my beta, Caroline (@ginandweas).

Inspired by Jane Austen’s Emma and the blissfulness and hardship of tumbling into true love. On the eve of publication of the most important article of her professional career thus far, Iris West realizes that she is head over heels in love with her best friend Barry Allen, but she grapples with revealing her feelings, for fear of ruining their friendship. But a weekend trip to Metropolis sets in motion a series of events, romantic mishaps and conundrums abound, that may force Barry and Iris to face some long-awaited, romantic truths.

Rating: T (Warning: Mild Language)

The mezzanine just above the ballroom of the Time Metropolis is a well-furnished carpeted landing with at least seven chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and a wide, glass balcony supposedly for onlookers to look upon the dancing masses below. There are refreshment stalls, serving a variety of beverages, and waiters carrying platters of an assortment of appetizers, including chili lime shrimp cups, fried okra, and goat cheese bites.

When the elevator arrives at the floor of the mezzanine, Iris steps out alongside her father and Cecile and sees that most people are milling around, chatting with one another. It would seem that no one has yet headed down the stairs to the ballroom, which holds the promise of a night of dancing. Furthermore, nobody seems to have noticed Joe, Cecile, and Iris’s arrival yet, as they are several feet away from everyone, which comes as somewhat of a relief for Iris, as she scans the room quickly, her eyes searching for one person only. Sure enough, she finds him, seated at a table, head pressed into his palm, a glass of wine before him, and wearing a distinctly melancholy expression. He is seated beside Cisco and Cynthia, who are conversing with one another, but looking over at him every few seconds, worryingly. Iris swallows, twisting her fingers behind her back, as she feels her sadness and anger dissipate, upon seeing how utterly torn up he looks, and she knows she must speak with Barry. She feels a hand on her shoulder and looks up to see her father giving her a reassuring smile, which she returns. When she looks back, she sees that Barry has seen her, as have Cisco and Cynthia. Cynthia appears jovial, leaving the table to come greet them, followed by Cisco, just as other guests begin noticing the new arrivals and start walking over to congratulate Joe and Cecile.

But Iris cannot tear her gaze away from Barry.

Because he’s regarding her like he never has before, as if the wind has been knocked out of him, as if he’s been rendered utterly speechless by her mere presence, gazing at her utterly wide-eyed, and the sheer intensity of the number of emotions his look conveys is too much for Iris, so she looks down at the floor, breathing deeply.

“Hi, Iris,” someone says, and Iris glances to her left and smiles politely when she sees Patty approaching towards her. She appears to be alone, which strikes Iris as odd, but perhaps what is even stranger, now that she thinks about it, is that Eddie is nowhere to be found.

“Hey, Patty,” Iris replies. “How are you?”

“I’m alright. Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, thank you. I think I just needed to get some rest. Between traveling and then going out last night, I think I was just over tired.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m glad you’re feeling better now.” An awkward silence descends upon them, and Iris is unsure how to progress the conversation, but she can sense that Patty wants to say something further.

“Are you here by yourself?” Iris queries, intuitively determining that perhaps Patty’s odd behavior might have to do with Eddie’s conspicuous absence.

“You noticed, huh,” Patty bites out sardonically. “I’m supposed to be here with Eddie. In fact, Eddie is literally supposed to be here, because he’s hosting the night. But I waited for him for like thirty minutes in the lobby, and he never showed up, so I came here, thinking perhaps he’d forgotten to meet me— wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that —but he’s not here either. I’ve been calling him and texting him, but he’s being absolutely unresponsive.”

“You’re not worried, are you? Because I’m sure he’ll turn up. As you said, he is hosting this.”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” Patty says. “I asked at the concierge if they’d seen him, and they said he had stepped out earlier today. And that Katie was with him.” Iris’s eyebrows raise, as she takes in this information. For she now realizes that Katie is also not present, and after she and Eddie had acted so bizarrely around each other yesterday, it is not particularly surprising that there is more to that story.

“So, they’re likely not coming here tonight,” Iris concludes, and Patty shrugs,

“So much for being a great host. Anyways, how am I supposed to tell Cecile that her god son might not be attending the gala he’s throwing in her and her husband’s honor?”

“Just tell her the truth, but don’t make it seem like Eddie abandoned her. I mean, we honestly don’t know where he is or why he is so delayed, but he could still make an appearance later tonight, after all.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Iris.” Iris nods, smiling reassuringly, as Patty heads over to Cecile who is standing a few feet away, chatting with one of the other guests. For a few moments, Iris is alone, as she mulls over Eddie and Katie’s absence, wondering what was so urgent that they had to leave right before Eddie was meant to begin hosting this gala for Joe and Cecile. Apart from his apparent inability to be a good host, it just seems so sudden, especially since Katie had been clearly trying to goad Eddie last night, by paying him no attention, and he had taken the bait with all his fuming and glowering.

A proffered glass of champagne enters her line of vision, and when Iris looks up, she sees Barry, handsome as ever in his tuxedo, holding the glass in front of her. His eyes are warm, conveying an abundance of emotions, and he’s smiling at her softly.

“Hi,” he says, almost a whisper.

“Hi,” she breathes, her voice also very quiet. They’re both gazing at each other, neither saying a word, before Barry lets out a small laugh, remembering himself.

“You look incredible,” he murmurs, as if in absolute awe, and the way he says it, with such reverence, makes her heart soar.

“Thank you, Barry. You look very handsome.”

He blushes, ducking his head, slightly, before continuing, “Uh, this is… this for you. I wanted to save a glass for you, because it’s elderflower and… you know, I realize now that there’s a bar, which I’m sure is probably stocked, now that I think about it… yeah, I’m sure it is, but at the time, I thought they might run out of glasses of champagne, because it didn’t seem like they had too many left being passed around. But I definitely wasn’t thinking about the bar. So, well, this is… for you, if you want it, of course. Do you want it? Because I can take it back and then…”

“Yes, I want it,” Iris chuckles, interrupting his rambling, which she finds utterly endearing, as Barry nervously runs a hand through his hair. “Thank you, Barry. I do love elderflower champagne.”

“Yeah, I know,” he answers softly. There’s something in his voice at that moment… an emotion that Iris cannot quite pinpoint, but it nonetheless ignites an intense warmth within her, and when she glances up at him, he’s regarding her almost sadly, like he wants so very much to tell her something, but he is unable to. She wants to tell him that it’s okay, that he can tell her anything and everything that he wants, but before she can, he whispers, “You’re wearing the necklace.” Her hand comes up to touch the wedding band, and she nods, smiling,

“Of course, I am. My best friend gave it to me.” He breathes out harshly, taking a step closer towards her, reaching his hand towards hers, almost as if by instinct.

“Iris, I need—,” he begins, but he is cut off by Cisco and Cynthia racing up to the both of them, having just congratulated Joe and Cecile and chattering about Eddie Thawne’s absence, of all things. Iris has half a mind to stare them both down for interrupting her moment with Barry, but decides against it, because she knows they didn’t exactly mean to tumble in on a private moment. Barry, on the other hand, does not seem to agree with this sentiment, for he is shooting Cisco a dark look, although Cisco, thankfully, seems oblivious.

“Can you believe Eddie isn’t even here?” Cisco asks immediately, shaking his head in apparent disbelief.

“I’m actually very surprised by him not turning up on time,” Cynthia replies. “I cannot imagine Eddie Thawne missing a gala that he, himself, is hosting. This is completely and utterly his element.”

“Katie isn’t here either. Apparently, she and Eddie went off somewhere earlier today and didn’t return. Patty told me,” Iris says, and Barry’s brow furrows at that, before he adds,

“I knew something was off between those two yesterday. It would maybe explain why the vibe was just completely off last night, like something just wasn’t adding up.” Iris catches Barry’s eye at that moment, and she feels her pulse race, upon the realization that Barry was apparently as completely befuddled and equally bemused about what was going on with Katie and Eddie as they all were. And that could only mean one thing, right?

“I think that much was obvious to all of us,” Cynthia replies, rolling her eyes. “Those two are a pair of absolute paragons of etiquette and normalcy when they’re around each other, aren’t they?” Everyone laughs at that, likely recalling the rather odd behavior both Katie and Eddie engaged in the previous night, which strengthens Iris’s resolve that perhaps she had been completely mistaken about what she had witnessed between Barry and Katie, although that betraying voice reminds her of the dinner at Marano’s, much to her chagrin. She is aware, though, that that is a question that needed answering. Eventually. Because at the moment she is certain that she wants to find that equilibrium again with Barry, before diving headlong into conversations that would likely change everything.

Quiet orchestral music begins to play, and a man steps up onto the mezzanine, gesturing with his hands towards Joe, Cecile, and the rest of the guests.

“I am the manager of the Time Metropolis. Mr. Thawne is unfortunately detained tonight, although he hopes to make an appearance later on. He asks that we host this night in his absence, and so if I could invite the guests of honor, Mr. West and Ms. Horton, and everyone else to please head to the ballroom, then we can officially commence the festivities.”

“Thank you,” Joe says, holding out his hand to Cecile. After she takes his hand, and the two of them begin to head down the double staircase to the rather ornate ballroom, apparently modeled after some Baroque-style palace, the rest of the guests follow. Iris can feel Barry’s eyes on her as they walk down the stairs, even though she is a few feet in front of him, and a feeling of great anticipation washes over her, as she ponders how the night might unfold.

As they reach the bottom of the staircase, Cynthia stumbles on the second to last step, and Iris lurches forward to steady her friend, but in doing so, she too loses her footing momentarily, and she thinks they might both end up tumbling down together, but just as she catches Cynthia’s arm, one hand comes around her waist, the other on the small of her back, preventing her from falling. Indeed, Cynthia is able to catch her balance, with Iris steadying her then, and she smiles gratefully up at Iris.

“Thanks,” she says, and Iris nods with a smile,

“Of course.” But her concentration is on the two hands holding her, for they’re Barry’s hands, and she is extremely aware of his touch against her bare back, his fingers gripping her gently, but firmly. She turns to look at him, just as he asks,

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, Bear. You saved both of us from tumbling down stairs in our gowns,” she replies, chuckling slightly, as Cynthia smirks, watching both of them closely,

“Yes, of course Barry did.” Noticing Cynthia’s knowing look, Barry and Iris smile sheepishly, seemingly embarrassed, but Barry does not step away from Iris, still holding her, the imprint of his hands hot against her.

The live orchestra is situated near the end of the large ballroom, and the conductor raises her baton, signaling that the musicians are about to begin performing a piece. Cynthia quickly says,

“I’m going to go see if Cisco wants to dance. Bye!” Before she walks away towards Cisco who is already near the center of the room. Iris shakes her head fondly, before Barry asks,

“Do you… would you like to dance, Iris?” His tone is soft and full of longing, and Iris recognizes the gravity of this moment.

“I would love to,” she replies, her face shining with a number of emotions, and she is uninterested in attempting to mask everything that she is feeling. She wants Barry to know. He smiles, releasing his grasp around her waist and back, and holding out his hand to her, which she takes in her own. As his fingers enclose around hers, she shivers for a moment, not of any cold air, but rather because of the intensity with which she knows that she loves him.

They make their way slowly into the ballroom, where the orchestra is playing a sultry musical piece, and Barry’s left arm comes around Iris, his hand settling at her waist, while he holds her left hand in his right. Her free arm goes around his neck and for a few moments they simply sway in each other’s arms, gazing at each other. Barry leads her around the other couples, but Iris barely realizes that they are in a ballroom full of other people, for she feels, within his arms, as if they are the only two people in the world. His eyes do not leave hers for even a moment, and it is hard not to mistake what he’s feeling in that moment, for his emotions are visibly ablaze upon his face. She wonders then how she possibly could have misread one night, when there had been so many signs telling her that he feels in their most intense moments all that she feels, but she supposes that the tricky thing about loving her best friend was the debilitating fear that he may not feel the same way. The fear that if she voiced her feelings, she could lose the safe harbor of their friendship forever. But change is sometimes not only good, but imperative. And perhaps that is the most integral part of what they shared; their need to trust each other in order to fully realize that their friendship was perhaps never simply platonic ever.

Iris moves closer to Barry in his arms, as they continue to dance, laying her head against his chest, feeling the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat against her ear. She closes her eyes, savoring his touch, while Barry’s arm tightens around her, his lips brushing against the crown of her head in a soft kiss. The music crescendos as they dance, coming to a natural end, and applause from the other couples erupt around them, but Barry and Iris, break apart only slightly, both of his hands now holding her waist, while his forehead comes to rest against her own. Iris’s hands slide up his chest, resting just below his bowtie, and they both breathe deeply, trying to mentally navigate what they are supposed to do next. It is apparent to Iris now that they cannot possibly put off the inevitable any further.

“We should talk,” she says, brushing her nose against his.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies, dazed. She smiles, feeling his breath fanning against her lips, and realizes then just how physically proximate they are to one another.

“Privately, Bear,” she urges softly. He nods, seemingly coming back to his senses and registering that they are currently in a room full of other people. They move apart, slowly, his hands caressing her as he backs away, and Iris immediately misses the warmth of his arms around her.

“Right. I’m sure we can find somewhere private away from all of this. It’s a hotel after all.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” she replies, raising her eyebrows. He grins lopsidedly at her, and without another word, he takes her hand and leads her out of the ballroom, and she wonders if anyone has noticed them, but finds herself not particularly caring if everyone is indeed watching their abrupt exit. Once they climb up the stairs and reach the mezzanine again, nodding politely towards a few members of the hotel staff milling about there, Barry looks around searchingly, and Iris is aware that he is trying to determine where they ought to go. She squeezes his hand, before saying, “Let’s just go to my room. Otherwise we’re going to be running around this whole hotel searching for a quiet place.” Barry lets out a breathy chuckle,

“Yeah, good idea, otherwise we’d be something like a pair of high school teenagers at prom, running around the venue for somewhere private.”

“We did miss out on prom, though. Together, I mean,” she replies wistfully. Perhaps there’s something distinctly poignant about her tone, because Barry pulls Iris closer to him, his hand settling gently at the base of her neck, and he’s regarding her, adoringly.

“But we did get our dance, even if it is thirteen years later.” She smiles, her eyes glistening with unshed tears,

“Yes, we did.” At that Barry drops his hand to hold hers once more, and he presses the call button for the elevator, and as they await the lift, all Iris can feel is both deep contentment and love.

When Iris enters her hotel room with Barry, it is with an internal sigh of relief, for the short journey from the mezzanine to the third floor of the Time Metropolis felt torturous, as they both were jittery with anticipation, but unable to truly voice anything until they were within the safety of a private room. Upon entering the room, Barry immediately begins pacing, while Iris busies herself by pouring them both glasses of water from a jug situated on the bedside table. She proffers one to Barry, and he stops fidgeting for a moment to take it.

“Thank you,” he says, gratefully, and they both sip from their glasses. Iris figures that she ought to convince Barry not to resume walking around the room, so she sits down on the edge of the bed and kicks off her heels. “You make it looks so graceful,” he sighs, coming to sit next to her, clutching his glass tightly.

“What do you mean?” she asks, and he turns, so that he’s facing her fully. Iris carefully places her hand over his, loosening his hold on his glass, hoping to help alleviate some of his nervous energy.

“Everything you do. It’s so graceful. So beautiful. I just…”

“Bear,” Iris starts, but Barry shakes his head quickly,

“You don’t have to say anything, Iris. I know that I messed up yesterday, but the truth is I’ve been messing things up for years now.”

“No, Barry, you haven’t,” Iris counters, while Barry puts his glass down on the floor beside his feet. Determining that they have now arrived at the point where all their cards are about to be laid out before them, Iris does the same with her own glass. When she places her now empty hands back on her lap, one of Barry’s hands encloses one of hers, gently prying her fingers open, so that her right palm is facing upwards, resting on her knee, before he interlocks her fingers with his. He brings their joined hands to his lips and kisses her knuckles, slowly, reverently. “Bear…” she whispers, but she is unsure what to say, recognizing that they are on a precipice of change.

“I owe you an explanation. I owe you so much more than that, but perhaps I can start with an explanation. But first, I am so sorry, Iris. About last night. I didn’t… I obviously was taken aback when I saw Katie again, and her over-friendliness was a source of confusion for me, but I guess I didn’t have the wherewithal to deal with everything she was saying, but I shouldn’t have even let her say anything. And if I’d been unable to stop her, I should have shut down all of the absurd insinuations she was clearly trying to make. I was put on the spot, not that that’s an excuse, but when I saw you… when I saw your face, I knew I’d screwed up really badly. Because to see you look so upset and to know that I was the reason for it, I don’t… god, Iris, it felt like a knife to my chest, and all I could think about was how much of an absolute idiot I am,” Barry begins, speaking rapidly, voice trailing off at the end, and he’s looking at her so earnestly, as if the worst thing in the world to him is being the cause of even an ounce of her sadness, and goodness she just wants to take his face in her hands and tell him that he is her happiness. But she stops herself, because she knows they have to get through this conversation.

“Bear, I’m not upset or angry with you now. But I was, especially right after Katie said what she said, when we had had that moment in my room just hours before, when you came to give me this.” And here she picks up the wedding band sitting between her collar bones to emphasize her point. “It just felt like everything we had shared had been rendered insignificant in that moment. Like it was nothing. And then I thought I had maybe read the moment wrong, but whenever I go over what happened in my head, I know that you were feeling what I was in that moment.”

“You weren’t reading that moment wrong, Iris. Not for a second,” Barry says, using his free hand to cup her cheek. She leans into his touch, closing her eyes for just a moment. “We almost kissed in your room, and I… there is nothing more that I wanted to do than kiss you. And then Cynthia interrupted, which wasn’t her fault, obviously, but I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t extremely frustrated, especially because we seem to have been interrupted throughout our lives a countless number of times.” He chuckles ruefully then, but Iris’s breath hitches, as she mulls over his words, particularly, there is nothing more that I wanted to do than kiss you. If only she could ask him then how he truly feels about her. If only she could tell him how she truly feels about him.

“But what about the dinner at Marano’s?” she queries, instead, for that betraying voice in her head refuses to let her move past that. Surely, Katie did not completely make that up, for even if she was simply saying all that she did to get a rise out of Eddie, telling complete falsities seemed a step too far. And there was the added anxiety that Barry had not corrected her then.

“Yeah, yeah, that was… Katie completely mischaracterized that dinner. I know it was dinner at Marano’s, but what she failed to mention is that Matt, who’s her cousin, as you know, was there as well, and the whole thing came about, because Katie showed up when I was tutoring Matt, and Old Mrs. Rogers was adamant that we all go out to dinner. But she was feeling unwell, and nonetheless insisted that we go, and it was impossible to say no, especially because Matt really wanted to go. I’m… I should have set the record straight last night, because I knew what Katie was trying to imply, and she was completely wrong on that account,” Barry replies, all in one breath, and he looks so pained that he’d let this fester, without correcting Katie’s white lie immediately, but Iris lets out a soft laugh, then,

“If you could have seen the scenarios I’d somehow managed to cook up in my head… Looking back, I realize they were probably irrational, and I should have just asked you, myself, but I was devastated and angry, and I think I just needed time to myself at that moment.”

“Iris, I am so, so sorry. Just the thought that you’d been in any kind of pain, because of me… god, I’m such an idiot,” he says, his fists clenched on his lap, and his tense form causes Iris worry. She frames his face with her hands, caressing his cheek with her thumb, hoping to soothe him. She leans in to rest her forehead against his, and for a few moments, all Iris can hear is their breathing, as she feels some of the tension in Barry’s muscles dissipate.

“It’s okay, Barry. This is not your fault. We just both stumbled into a series of romantic mishaps, because of someone else’s lies. But we’re here now,” Iris soothes. Barry grins at that, fully relaxing then.

“Romantic mishaps, huh?” he teases gently. She moves away from him just slightly to look at him properly, chuckling,

“Would you characterize it otherwise?”

“Not at all. Especially because Cisco said that you and I have been constantly tumbling into romantic mishaps throughout our entire adult lives. I was so mad at him, both last night and today, because he kept saying that I couldn’t call you or text you… and you should have seen me today. I was oscillating between walking around like a zombie and ranting at Cisco about how he could put me through this. He wouldn’t budge, though, repeatedly telling me that I needed to give you a day’s worth of space and that I’d see you at the gala. And I was going out of my mind the entire day. But now,” he says, bringing his hands to her waist, slowly, tentatively. “I think maybe he was right.” Iris silently agrees, because despite her initial frustrations over Barry having not reached out to her today, Cisco was probably right in refusing to allow him to call or text her. They both clearly needed the day to work through their emotions by themselves.

“Well, Cisco is quite wise,” she remarks in response.

“Drove me insane today, but yeah, he has his moments,” Barry jokes, and Iris laughs. “God, I love your laugh.” Iris raises an eyebrow at that, as she simultaneously runs her fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes for a moment, as if relishing her touch.

“You love my laugh?” she asks in jest, but his expression becomes solemn, and he pulls her closer to him, his hands remaining on her waist.

“Always have. I remember,” he begins, slowly, carefully. “…When we first met. My mom had brought me to the playground when I was ten, and I’m pretty sure I was upset about the new move to Central City, so she probably took me there, so that I could blow off some steam. And I’d somehow managed to swing myself so aggressively that I’d tumbled headfirst into the dirt. I was so angry and annoyed, and I’m pretty sure about to start crying, but then there was this small hand…” At this, one of his hands release her waist, and he grasps her hand, intertwining their fingers. “…Reaching out to me. That was when I’d first met you, and you were smiling and asking if I was okay, and I’m sure I said something stupid, because I was kind of in awe. But you laughed and told me that I was funny, and I’m quite sure… no, I know that that was the moment that I fell absolutely in love with you, Iris. Or maybe it was a year later when my dad died, and you found me crying in a corner, hours after everyone had left, after they’d all come by to pay their condolences, and you stayed up all night with me, holding me. Looking back, I knew I loved you then. But when you’re a kid, you can’t truly fathom love, but I knew I had a total crush on you, and when I was about sixteen years old, I identified that what I felt for you was love. I was in love with my best friend, but I didn’t know how to tell you, because I was so afraid that I would completely ruin our friendship. And yet, the years that have past since our childhood and young adulthood just strengthened my feelings. I’m more in love with you today than I was when we were children.” As Barry speaks, he holds absolutely nothing back, wearing his heart on his sleeve, and Iris tells herself to steady her breathing. Because she is aware that if she is completely honest with herself, she has known that Barry reciprocates her feelings for a long time, but to have him tell her, to have him say that he’s in love with her… there is nothing that could prepare her for this moment.

“You’re incredible, Iris,” Barry continues. “I don’t think you even realize how amazing you are. You jump headlong into seeking the truth, with little care to your own safety, because you so innately believe in the importance of preserving justice and saving lives. You see the best in people, no matter what, but most of all you inspire people. I’ve told you time and again that you’re my hero, Iris West. But more than that, whenever I see you, it’s akin to coming home for me. I’ve struggled with the concept of home and where that might be for me, especially after my dad died when I was a kid, but I’ve realized that home is not a place. It never has been for me. Instead, it’s a person. It’s you. Whenever I need to get away from the rest of the world, my safety net is you. You’re whom I always run to. Because you’re my home, Iris, and you always have been. I love you deeply. And I promise that I’ll dedicate every day to loving you… if you’ll have me of course.” Tears spill from Iris’s eyes then, which Barry immediately catches with his thumbs, gently brushing them aside, as he cups her face. He’s smiling so widely at her, his own eyes glistening, and she finds herself contemplating how surreal this moment truly is.

“You really have quite a way with words, Barry Allen,” she says, her voice shaking, slightly.

“Only for you. You’re the storyteller, after all. I’m just the boy luck enough to love you,” he replies, and Iris’s heart soars, completely overwhelmed with love for the man sitting before her.

Then she begins,

“Well, I suppose I should tell you about the day that I am quite sure was a moment of exceptional clarity for me. We were in the eighth grade, and I was overworked as Editor of the Central City Junior High Gazette, because none of my fellow cub reporters were completing their articles on time. Unfortunately, not all fourteen-year-olds took their responsibilities as junior reporters in training as seriously as I did mine. It was nearing the end of the day, and I still was short two articles, and I was nearly in tears over the stress of the realization that I was going to need to cover two stories, myself, in a matter of twenty-four hours, because we needed to fill the page quota necessary for publication. The door of the classroom opened, and you enter, and I didn’t know what it was about seeing you then, but the moment I saw you, the dam broke, and I was sobbing. And you raced over and hugged me and asked me what was wrong, and when I told you, you simply said that we were going to find two stories to cover together and that you’d stay over at my place for the entire night, if you had to, helping me. And in that moment, I knew everything was going to be okay.

Because the truth is Barry, you are my rock. You’re always there for me no matter what, and I didn’t know then why I finally cried only when I saw you, but I know now. I felt safe to fully release my frustrations and anxieties, despite still being in school, because you were with me. Whether you’re entering Jitters to meet me or racing through the doors of the Citizen with Big Belly Burger take-out, I’m home the moment I see you. I love you, Barry. I love you so, so much, and I’m completely yours. I always have been, and I always will be.” At the end of her declaration, Barry is gazing at her both lovingly and ardently, and he says,

“And I am totally yours.” With his hands still cupping her face, he surges forward and captures her lips with his, kissing her hungrily and passionately. This kiss is years in the making, and there is no easing into it, as Iris gasps into Barry’s mouth, her hands climbing up his chest, until one hand settles at the nape of his neck, while the other remains near his heart. She presses herself even closer, wanting to be as physically proximate to him as she can, and he evidently wants the same, for he secures one arm around her back, pulling her smoothly into his lap, until she’s straddling him underneath her long gown. There are vague warning bells in her head, reminding her that she might tear her dress, but she is hardly concerned about that, figuring that her dress can certainly weather a night of her finally kissing the love of her life.

Meanwhile, Barry’s hands have bunched up the skirt of Iris’s dress to her hips and are roaming the smooth skin of her now bare legs, and his mouth leaves hers and moves to the skin below her earlobe, before slowly kissing the side of her jaw and then her neck.

“Have I told you how gorgeous you look?” he murmurs huskily, then.

“I think you might have,” she chuckles, breathlessly.

“Well you look absolutely beautiful,” he responds, before kissing her again, this time more languidly, taking his time to really explore her mouth. Iris responds, cupping his chin with one hand, equally enjoying his more relaxed kisses as she did his passionate kisses moments ago.

She then pulls away for a moment, and Barry groans, chasing her mouth, but instead she undoes his bowtie, with nimble fingers, and takes in his flushed lips, dilated pupils, and mussed up hair, and she’s sure she has never been more content than in this very moment.

“I love you,” she says, as he buries his head in her chest and mumbles something incoherent. “Bear?”

He turns his head to the side, so that she can hear him when he states, rather hoarsely,

“Iris, when I said I was yours, I meant it. Seriously, I’d literally do anything for you.” Iris smirks at that, maneuvering his head gently away from her chest, so that they were eye to eye, before replying,

“That could turn out to be a very dangerous statement, Barry Allen.” Barry grins, rising to the challenge.

“I’d be more than happy to indulge in a little danger where it involves Iris West,” he responds. Iris raises her eyebrows at that and brings her lips to Barry’s, coaxing his mouth open with hers. He wraps his arm tightly around her lower back, while his free hand dips under the hem of her gown, bunched up at her waist, brushing his fingers teasingly against the soft skin of her abdomen, while she runs one hand through his hair, as the other unbuttons his dress shirt. Her hips buck against his, as she caresses his bare chest with her thumb, soliciting a moan from him, which she quietens by deepening their kiss.

Barry lifts Iris, then, and in one movement lays her on the bed, as he hovers over her, before gently moving his lips from hers to trail soft kisses down the length of her neck. Just as he reaches her collarbone, there is a loud banging on their door, and Barry groans loudly, dropping his head to her chest. Iris sighs, running a hand through his hair, when a voice that most definitely belongs to Cisco yells out,

“Barry? Iris?”

“If we ignore him, do you think he’ll go away?” Barry mumbles, just as Cynthia says rather loudly,

“We know you two are in there, so don’t pretend you can’t hear us.” Barry audibly grumbles, while Iris chuckles,

“Baby, I admire you wanting to ignore those two, but I really don’t think they’re going to leave.” Barry lets out a puff of breath that fans against Iris’s skin, and he slowly rolls away from her, sitting up and placing a pillow in his lap, perhaps in an attempt to be discrete, although privately Iris knows that Cisco is absolutely going to comment gleefully on his friend’s state of disarray. Meanwhile, she gets up and adjusts her dress, so that it falls back over her legs and walks over to the vanity mirror, grabbing a make-up cloth to wipe off her now smudged lipstick. She’s quite sure that she’s already sporting love bites on her neck and shoulders, but she cannot seem to bring herself to care about concealing them.

Once she’s satisfied that she’s as presentable as she can possibly be, given the circumstances, she opens the door of her hotel room and sees Cisco and Cynthia standing by the threshold, both wearing similarly smug expressions.

“Iris!” Cisco says, clapping his hands together, dramatically, while Cynthia scrutinizes her, before asking,

“What’s that on your neck?” Although her tone suggests that this is no innocent question, and she’s simply trying to put Iris on the spot, Iris refuses to take the bait, instead querying,

“Are you two going to come in? I imagine you’re here to deliver urgent news.”

“Patience,” Cisco replies, jovially, as he enters the room and spots Barry, sitting on the edge of the bed. At this sight, Cisco seems positively gleeful. “Nice pillow, Barry.”

“You are an ass,” Barry mutters darkly, not bothering to greet his friend.

“Love you too, man. And by the way,” Cisco chuckles, throwing his arm around Iris. “It’s because of me that this happened.” He gestures between Barry and Iris. “Without me apparently putting Barry through absolute misery today, the two of you would have continued your decades long song and dance of refusing to acknowledge that you are madly in love with each other.” Iris shrugs off Cisco’s arm, rolling her eyes, fondly.

“Yeah, yeah, thank you, Cisco,” she says.

“Mmhmm, forget West-Allen Matchmakers. I think Ramon and Sons, Experts in Match-Making is the real success story.”

“Is that so? Because I’m pretty sure the two of you have been clearly enjoying each other’s company, and Barry and I can definitely take some credit there,” Iris replies, raising an eyebrow, and Cisco blushes at that, tucking his shoulder-length hair behind his ears.

“Well, for two people who apparently are champions at setting everyone else up, you sure took a ridiculously long time getting your respective acts together,” Cynthia retorts. At this, Iris saunters over to the edge of the bed, sitting next to Barry and leaning her chin on his shoulder, while he takes one of her hands in one of his.

“Maybe. But we’re here now,” Iris replies, as Barry kisses her forehead.

“Y’all are cute, I’ll admit,” Cisco says, and Cynthia smiles at the sight of them together.

“So why are you here?” Barry asks, stroking Iris’s knuckles with his thumb. In response, Cisco grabs a chair near the vanity and sits down, while Cynthia seats herself in a cushioned armchair by a round coffee table.

“So…,” Cisco begins, pausing for dramatic effect, although his anticipation is not reciprocated by either Barry and Iris, who do not prompt him. “Alright, so, guess who showed up just now, roughly halfway through the ball?” Cisco does not wait for an answer, however, the question apparently rhetorical. “That’s right. Eddie Thawne, accompanied by Katie Rogers. Their appearance so late in the game is not even the real crazy thing, because you’ll never guess what happened when they arrived. Okay, so the two of them show up, and they’re dressed for the occasion, and they head over to Cecile and Joe, where Eddie apologizes profusely, naturally, but then seems to reveal something to Cecile which makes her absolutely ecstatic. And she’s crying and hugging Eddie. Needless to say, we were all quite curious as to what could possibly be going on, but Eddie dispels the suspense quite quickly, when he and Katie head over towards the orchestra, and he abruptly stops the musicians and conductor, before taking a mic and claiming he has a big announcement.

He apologizes sincerely for being so late, but explains that he has a reason for being late, and this reason is that he has big news that will bring everyone at this ball great pleasure. And he proceeds to announce that he and Katie just eloped and got married.” At this, Barry and Iris exchange flabbergasted looks, before turning back to Cisco.

“Excuse me?” Iris says, as Barry’s brow furrows contemplatively.

“They got married,” Cisco repeats, shrugging his shoulders. “I know, I know. But that’s where they were today, apparently. Getting married. I’m ninety percent sure, though, that this was a decision made on the fly.”

“But they clearly were having some sort of argument yesterday that we all were not privy to.”

“Yep. I still don’t know what that’s all about, but I have a theory from talking to Katie afterwards. I obviously went up to congratulate them, because what the hell else are we supposed to do, and I was like, ‘Oh this is very nice and all, but this seems sudden.’ She was really cagey, but kind of let it slip that she was pissed that Eddie was keeping their romance a secret from his family, who wouldn’t approve of his involvement with her or some crap, so Katie had given him an ultimatum of her own that if he didn’t get serious with her, she was going to leave him. Guess that kicked his ass into gear.” Iris notices Barry watching Cisco closely, as he takes this in, nodding along. Cisco’s explanation appears to have given him some clarity on the situation.

“That makes sense,” Barry sighs, shaking his head. “I think I may have somehow ended up as the scapegoat, while Katie was trying to make a point to Eddie. But it’s just… god I’m such an idiot, because all the while, Iris was hurt by all this mess, and that is on me… I should have been clear about setting the record straight.”

“Hey, Bear, it’s okay,” Iris soothes. “It really doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” Barry exclaims. “It does matter, because all of that hurt you, Iris. And it’s just… god, this is my fault, and…” But Iris has heard enough, and she grasps both his hands in her own.

“Barry,” she says firmly. “We’ve been over this. What happened last night was not your fault. None of this is your fault. You couldn’t possibly have known about Katie and Eddie’s romantic drama. It seems like nobody knew that they were secretly dating.”

“You’re right,” Barry replies. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten so angry, but just the mere thought of Katie’s callousness, by trying to insinuate what she did about me and her, all because she was trying to make Eddie jealous, having hurt you is so infuriating.”

“I love you,” Iris whispers, brushing her lips against Barry’s jaw, just as Cisco clears his throat loudly,

“Hey, I know y’all are in that insufferable, just got together officially phase and all, but we’re still here, and I haven’t even gotten to the best part of the story.”

“Yeah,” Cynthia interrupts, clearly fed up with Cisco’s prolonging. “Patty dumped a glass of wine over Eddie’s head.” Barry and Iris turn to each other, sharing a surprised look, as Iris observes,

“And here Barry and I were thinking that we’ve had our fair share of romantic mishaps. Seems as if we don’t really know what actual romantic mishaps encompass, after all.” Cisco, however, is clearly affronted that Cynthia had botched his story-telling,

“That’s not how you tell a story, Cyn. You have to ease into the best part to build up the anticipation.”

“Please, there’s no building up anticipation with Barry and Iris, other than them anticipating our departure.”

“True,” Barry says, chuckling. “And also, I know Eddie definitely didn’t deserve to get wine poured all over him, but that’s undoubtedly a sight that I’d have liked to witness.” Thus, Iris is reminded of one remaining mystery, namely the prickly nature of all of Barry and Eddie’s interactions that she has witnessed, so she inquires accordingly,

“By the way, Bear. Why do you dislike Eddie so much? I don’t recall you two having spent all that much time together to have developed animosity towards each other.” Barry’s eyes widen at that, and he resembles a deer caught in the headlights, which Iris, naturally, finds incredibly endearing.

“Oh my god, you never told her?” Cisco cuts in, looking positively maniacal at this discovery. Barry begins shaking his head frantically at Cisco, but his attempts at preventing his friend from talking are of no avail. “So, the first time Barry and Eddie crossed paths was at some garden party Cecile hosted, and you took Barry as your guest or something. I don’t know the details, because I only have secondhand information from Barry, but basically Eddie tried to insinuate that he might be interested in you to goad Barry, probably, because he, like everyone else except for you two, knew how you both felt about each other. Anyways, Barry had some really harsh words for Eddie, and since then the two of them can’t stand the sight of each other. Talk about the world’s fastest rivalry for no real, concrete reason.”

“I hate you,” Barry groans, burying his face in his hands, but Iris refuses to let Barry wallow in embarrassment, so she nudges him with her shoulder, leaning into him.

“I think you having… how did it Cisco put it?… Harsh words… is hot, Bear,” she says. He turns to her, with a small smile,

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He cups her cheek with one hand, his fingers burying into her hair, and kisses her soundly.

“Ugh, okay, okay,” Cynthia interrupts, getting up. “We’re leaving. Have fun, you two.”

“See ya!” Cisco yells, as Cynthia takes his arm and pulls him to the door. “And remember, this is because of me. I’m the real matchmaker around here.” Once they exit the room, Cisco still chattering away, Barry releases an audible sigh of relief and mumbles,

“Thank god.” Iris laughs, leaning her forehead against his, closing her eyes, before stating,

“You do know that I was never interested in anyone but you, right? I could never really make it work with anyone else, because I was so in love with you. I am so in love with you.”

“I know. And I never could be interested in any other person other than you, not when you have always had my heart,” Barry replies, before continuing, “Also, just to clarify, Eddie and I don’t despise each other or anything; we’re just never going to be friends.”

“Mm, well, I don’t think you two will be seeing each other very often outside of occasional social gatherings.”

“Yeah.” They stay like that, foreheads resting together, taking comfort in each other’s arms, before Iris says,

“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I am in this moment.” Barry smiles widely at that, adjusting so that he’s holding her face in both of his hands.

“Iris, you have no idea how deeply happy you make me,” he whispers against her lips, his tone reverent as he acknowledges the depth of his love for her. “I love you. I love you so, very much.” A tear escapes him then, which Iris wipes away gently with her thumb, before pressing her lips to his, as she delights in the knowledge that he is hers to love and she is his to love for the rest of their lives.

One and a half years later

Iris sighs contentedly, leaning back against Barry’s chest, his arm wrapped around her waist. She is seated in his lap, like a bride (which, in fact, she is), her white tulle skirt fanning around both of them. All around her there seems to be a flurry of activity, as she assesses the myriad of guests in attendance at her wedding reception.

Wally and Linda are attempting to feed their baby twins, and despite their bemoaning that they cannot quite get this parenting thing down, they seem to be doing a wonderful job at soothing their agitated twins and getting them to eat some mashed foods, which they had brought with them in portable Tupperware. Every time Linda manages to feed a twin, Wally gives her an exaggerated kiss on the cheek, which seems to highly amuse the babies, who giggle uncontrollably at this.

Her father, with whom she had recently danced the father-daughter dance, is regaling some folks with stories about when she was young and how he always knew she was going to grow into an absolute journalistic star. Usually, Iris would be embarrassed by her father’s bragging, but today she lets him sing her praises, for it is her big day after all. Cecile is chatting with friends at a table, and seated near her are Eddie and Katie Thawne, whom Cecile requested be invited, much to Barry’s chagrin, and who are also expecting a baby, as Katie is already sporting a baby bump. Patty is also in attendance, which Iris had initially worried might be awkward, given that there is a good chance that Patty would run into Eddie, but Patty recently reconnected with an old boyfriend, and she brought him as her date. Plus, Patty has managed to completely ignore the Thawnes, at least thus far. Cisco and Cynthia, who have been dating for over a year now, appear to be in their own little world together, heavily flirting with each other at their table. Caitlin and Ronnie are sitting next to Cisco and Cynthia, but they don’t seem particularly concerned with the other couple’s flirting, for they are preoccupied with entertaining their two-year-old daughter.

Allegra, Kamilla, and James are all laughing about something, and Iris is glad that they are enjoying themselves, for she knows that last week was a highly stressful time at the Citizen, because they had finally published a piece, on which all the Citizen’s reporters worked for weeks on end (now a team of nearly fifty reporters, for the amount of positive publicity that had resulted from the McCulloch Tech exposé had catapulted the Citizen into journalistic stardom, particularly after Iris had been awarded a Peabody Award and Kamilla a World Press Photo Award for their work on the article), exposing a massive eviction scam, which implicated three local politicians. So, Iris is grateful that the three reporters seem to be relaxed and happy, the stresses of last week hopefully dissipating. As for Kara, she appears to have discovered the scrumptious doughnut display near the dessert buffet and is evidently in heaven.

Iris’s Great-Aunt Esther sits at the head of the West family table, friendly, but reserved and still ever so beautiful. Barry and Iris are seated one table down from her, and when Great-Aunt Esther catches Iris’s eye, she winks at her favorite grand-niece, perhaps reinforcing the sentiment that she had voiced to Iris earlier that day that she is the happiest she could ever be to see her dearest grand-niece marry the love of her life.

“Your Mama, My Francine… she would be so proud of the woman you have become,” Great-Aunt Esther tells Iris right before Joe arrives to walk her down the aisle. Tears roll down Iris’s cheeks, as her Great-Aunt gathers her into her arms. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

“I miss her so, so much. Every single day,” Iris whispers.

“She is always, always with you.”

The memory from this morning is one Iris knows she will cherish deeply, but while she relives that moment, she notices that there now appears to be trouble, for Barry’s mother, Nora, joins Joe, and they both start telling the tale of how they knew Barry and Iris were always going to get married from the moment they witnessed the two interact as young children. Surely, the two of them would somehow manage to recount the numerous occasions on which Barry and Iris play-acted getting married as children, usually with a stuffed dinosaur presiding.

“When Barry came home from the playground that day after meeting Iris,” Nora says loudly, “He went running up to his dad and said, ‘Dad! I met the most beautiful girl in the world today. I think I want to marry her.’ And my late husband said, ‘Well, slugger, love is about reciprocity. Focus on getting to know her. And who knows, maybe one day, we’ll be attending yours and Iris’s wedding.’ And here we are.” Upon hearing his mother retell this particular story, Barry drops his forehead to Iris’s shoulder, groaning quietly, so that only she can here.

“It’s bad already, and they’re just getting started,” Barry mutters, kissing his wife’s shoulder. “I think we should make our great escape right about now.” Iris smiles, running a hand through Barry’s hair, as she feels Barry’s lips move upward, slowly beginning to trail kisses from her shoulder to her neck.

“Bear, if you’re trying to get me to agree to leave with you right now…” Iris whispers, attempting to maneuver herself discreetly so that the guests cannot see her husband kissing her neck.

“Is it working?” Barry asks, looking up at her and smiling.

“You know it is,” she sighs, and he appears supremely smug at that. “But we do have to stick around for a while longer, after all this is our wedding reception. We can’t just cut out early.” Barry mumbles his half-hearted assent, although he seems unconvinced, before caressing his fingers against Iris’s arm, gazing at her, suddenly contemplative. “What is it?” she queries, softly.

“I just can’t believe it. I can’t believe we’re here, finally, at our wedding reception. I think it really only hit me that I’m marrying you when I saw you walk down the aisle, and you are so, so beautiful and amazing and wonderful, and I realized that I’m truly lucky enough to marry the girl of my dreams,” Barry replies, and Iris frames his face with her hands, leaning forward gently, so her forehead rests against his.

“Those tears were real huh?” she teases, gently. Barry chuckles, and because they are so closely pressed together, she feels the reverberations of his laugh against her own chest.

“Completely real.”

“So were mine,” Iris says, her lips just a hair’s length away from his. “Because just as it was overwhelming for you to watch me walking down the aisle, I was incredibly overwhelmed with happiness and love seeing you standing at the end of the aisle, looking so dapper, and knowing that I finally get to marry the love of my life, who is the most amazing man that I know.” Barry’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, touched by her words, and he brushes his nose against Iris’s, murmuring against her lips,

“I love you, Mrs. West-Allen.” Iris responds by kissing him once gently, and they are silent for a few moments, foreheads still touching, and contemplating the depth of their love for one another. Then, Barry shakes his head fondly and remarks, jokingly,

“You and I are complete saps.”

“Eloquent saps,” Iris corrects, laughing. “But that’s why we’re perfect for each other.”

“Mm, true,” Barry says, taking her hand in his own and bringing their joined hands to his lips and kissing her fingers one by one. “I love you so much, Iris.”

“I love you,” Iris replies, before her expression becomes more mischievous. “It’s a shame we don’t have balloons at our reception.”

“Why? Were you planning on wrangling some into our car? Personally, I’d be game. I only got to witness you successfully fit those balloons into your car last time, an admirable feat, I might add.” Iris shakes her head fondly, feigning mild exasperation, while Barry laughs.

“Spoken like someone who has never had the view from his rear mirror constantly marred by inflated balloons,” Iris sighs. “And so no, I do not want to attempt to take any inflated balloons with us in a car, but I guess I was just feeling slightly nostalgic, because it was at my dad and Cecile’s wedding reception that I think I realized that I’ve always been in love with you.” Iris looks down at their intertwined hands, while Barry’s gaze becomes solemn, then, as he tucks an errant strand of hair that had come undone from her elaborate bun behind her ear.

“Well, that was also the night I first really told you how I felt,” Barry replies, and Iris glances up at him, surprised. “Yeah. Do you remember when I said that something incredible has always been in front of me, and I just really should throw caution to the wind?”

“I remember. You were talking about me. About us,” Iris whispers, and Barry nods, caressing her cheek gently, his touch warm and comforting against her skin.

“Yeah. I guess that was one of the many times I really came close to spilling my heart out to you, but Linda was also there, and I figured your dad’s wedding reception probably wasn’t a good place to tell you how I feel. Although I do think the spirit of weddings prompted that particular confession that night.”

“It’s silly now, looking back, but I remember thinking that you were talking about someone else at the time, and that’s when I truly realized that I am absolutely in love with you and have been for years.”

“I know that was all cleared up quite quickly, but I could never have been ever talking about anyone else,” Barry says, and Iris smiles, turning her face into his hand and placing a soft kiss on his palm.

“I know, Bear,” she replies, but from his expression, she can sense his adamancy about providing abundant clarity.

“It only has ever been you, Iris. It only has ever been you,” he whispers, and she lays her head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat underneath her palm, before murmuring,

“And you’re the only one. You’ve always been the only one. And you and I have the rest of our lives to tell each other every day.” Barry adjusts, so that she is completely encircled by his arms, while he presses his lips to the crown of her head, as she, in turn, wraps her arm snugly around his waist.

“The rest of our lives,” he echoes, as his arms tighten around her. Iris smiles, glancing up at Barry, and remarks,

“Sounds pretty amazing, doesn’t it?” And he grins widely, bending his head towards hers and whispering,

“Absolutely incredible,” against her lips, before kissing her soundly.

#westallen #westallen secret santa #submission

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deluxewhump · 4 years

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ohh that last max and carlo drabble got me thinking... if max thought carlo would be illiterate at first, could you maybe write something where max finds out carlo can read? because i can imagine carlo wouldn't like... just decide to read something from max's library on his own, and it sounds like max doesn't want to make any assumptions about carlo's reading abilities. it would be so cute to see max find out carlo can read, and carlo getting permission to take books from the library!

They’ve settled on calling him Carlo. Max has no way of knowing if he actually likes it or if it just dawned on him that Max was going to continue to rattle off names in alphabetical order until he stopped him. But his real first initial is C. Maybe Carlo is close. If he knows his real first name he refuses to let on. But Max can’t go on skirting around the issue of what to call him, and saying ‘hey’ to get his attention has already gotten very stale.

“Carlo.” Max repeats, testing out the mouthfeel. “Ok then. Good. It’s cute.”

The boy- Carlo- gives him the shy smile that Max is quickly growing attached to.

“So what does Carlo want for dinner tonight, huh?” Max opens the fridge. “We got… white chicken chili and homemade cornbread, thank you Cissy… we got…uuhm.”

“Okay.”

Max turns. “That sound good?”

Carlo nods. “Yes Sir. Thank you.”

Max pulls the blue stoneware out of the fridge, sets it on the counter. “Thank you for what? Cissy made it.”

Behind him is complete silence. He forgets. The boy takes everything that comes out of his mouth very seriously. He turns. His Pet is looking at him like he’s trying to figure out if that was rhetorical or not.

“Thank you for… feeding me. Sir.”

It’s Max’s turn to be speechless. He opens his mouth to speak but can’t, has to turn back toward the stove and get the burner going to reheat the food. “Of course. Course I’ll feed you.”

He considers adding I’ll always feed you, but is distracted by Carlo opening the fridge, pulling out sour cream and chives.

“Are these right?” He asks, holding one in each hand.

“Perfect. And I don’t know about you but I could go for some Fritos in there.”

“…Fritos?”

“You know, the scoops? Corn chips? Grab them out of the pantry, would you?”

Carlo always obeys immediately, and it isn’t until he’s already in the pantry that Max realizes there’s probably a few types of similar looking bags right next to each other, and how the hell is this kid who doesn’t know what a Frito is and was never taught to read supposed to pick out the right one? He turns to help but Carlo is already coming out with the right bag, sets it next to the chives. He sees Max’s face and freezes.

“Is… is this the right one?” He asks, voice small.

“Yeah. Yeah you got it. I just thought…How’d you know?”

Carlo is nervous at this line of questioning. He thinks he’s done something wrong, Max can tell. He’s already tensing his shoulders, averting his eyes. He looks like he’s just realized he’s made a massive mistake.

“I..they say Fritos.”

Max raises his eyebrows. “You can… You can read?”

Carlo’s eyes dart up at his and then back to some spot on the floor. His breathing has gotten shallower. He takes a tiny step backward, away from Max.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be… don’t be sorry. I just thought… well I didn’t know if…”

“I should’ve told you.”

Again, Max finds himself slightly open-mouthed, unsure where to even start.

“I should’ve told you,” Carlo repeats. This time when he lifts his eyes they are filmed with tears. “I’m sorry, Sir. Please… I only thought… I know some pets aren’t… my master always let… uhm.” He shakes his head, growing more frantic. “My ex-master. He allowed it…But I can.. I can try to stop. I can… Forget.”

Forget how to read? Max almost laughs out loud but for how scared this boy is, how nearing-hysterical. He holds up his hands in a gesture of peace.“That’s great. I’m glad you can read.”

Carlo doesn’t seem to hear. He’s sucking in short little breaths now, as if the air has been vacuumed from the room and he is beginning to choke.

“Hey. Hey.” He crosses the kitchen slowly, palms up. Carlo closes his eyes and turns his head as if expecting to be hit in the face. He’s practically swimming in the tshirt Max gave him, which makes him look even more vulnerable.

“Can you look at me?”

Slowly, Carlo opens his eyes. His lashes are stuck in wet triangles, eyes full of distrust and fear.

“I’m happy you can read. That’s great. It’s not a problem.”

Carlo’s eyes go back and forth between his, searching for a trick. At least he’s listening.

“I don’t mind a bit. In fact… you can sort the junk mail out of the important stuff for me. That would help me a lot.”

A task. To be useful. Now Max has really got him.

“Y…yeah?” Carlo sniffs, his disbelief filled with hopefulness now instead of abject panic.

“Yeah. And… lots of other things, I’m sure. It’s a good thing. Thank you for telling me.”

Max wants desperately to just hug him, because in his world that’s how you make things better, that’s how you show affection. He doesn’t know what the hell it might mean for this boy, though. He tries instead for a hand on his shoulder. When that goes okay, he gives a little squeeze.

“We’re gonna figure everything out, sweetheart. You’re not going to be in trouble for anything. I promise.”

Carlo looks at him as if he’d just promised him the winning megabucks lotto ticket. He runs his hand under his nose. “You’re… not mad?”

Max shakes his head. “No.” He wonders if he can coax out that little smile. “But… does this mean you’re aware your shirt says Alden county bowling club? That’s unfortunate. I wouldn’t have done that to you if I knew you could read it.”

Carlo searches Max’s eyes one more time before he lets a smile creep onto his face. It looks so heartbreaking combined with his tears that before he can catch himself Max reaches out and brushes a wet cheek with the back of his finger. Carlo blinks but doesn’t flinch. He does the other side, the gentlest brush of skin.

“Okay. We okay?”

Carlo gives him a brave nod.

“Only good times now.” Max promises again. “Remember?”

#max and pet series #max and pet series asks #carlo and max #carlo can read #bowling is cool it was just a dumb joke #pet whumpee #fear #conditioned #comfort #trust building

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kprciffdw · 3 years

Text

Ratchet and Kim Possible Chronicles: The Lombax Secret-Part 9

And so, Kim proceeded to tell Talwyn everything that happened to her and the group as well as everything that they knew. Kim: "And that's everything we know so far."

Talwyn stood by speechless for a bit. Talwyn: "Oh…um…I see…" Kim: "So, your dad really does own this whole place, huh?" Talwyn: "Yeah, he built it. Impressed?" Kim: "Very. So, Talwyn, I must ask you something, why did Tachyon think that you have a secret Lombax weapon?" Talwyn: "Well…since this is my dad's base…he…" Ron: "Uh, by the way, who is this Max Apogee guy?" Cronk: "Max Apogee was a famous…" Talwyn: "IS a famous…" Cronk: "Um…uh…yes…of course. IS a famous explorer and collector of rare interstellar antiquities, most notable of which was a Lombax artifact."

Cronk then handed a picture frame over to Kim. The frame contained a photo of Talwyn as a little girl with her father, marveling at an unusual object. Kim: "Oh, that answers a lot of questions. So, where is this artifact?" Talwyn: "It was taken by pirates when they raided this station years ago. My father went after them…but he…never came back."

Kim continued to stare at the picture with a melancholy look on her face. Kim: "Talwyn…I…I'm so sorry…"

Talwyn looked back at Kim. She was sad but then a small grin appeared on her face. Ron: "So…we risked our hides getting here for nothing? Well, that's just great!"

Kim whacked Ron on the side of his head. Ron: "Ow!" Kim: "Ron! Don't be insensitive!" Ron: "I'm just saying…!" Talwyn: "I take it he's not very bright." Kim: "That would be an understatement." Ratchet: "He's also childish; as Kim mentioned to me a while back."

Ron placed his hands on his hips as he looked at Ratchet in an annoyed manner. Just then, the Kimmunicator went off. Kim answered it. Wade: "Kim. Ratchet, I've just picked up on an unusual signal. It took me a while to decode it, but I've managed to find out what it is." Talwyn: "Uh…who's that you're talking to?" Kim: "Oh! Uh, I didn't even think about that. Talwyn, this is Wade, Wade, this is Talwyn, we ran into her and her 2 robots just now." Wade: "Nice to meet you." Talwyn: "Likewise." Kim: "So, Wade, about that unusual signal?" Wade: "Oh! Right! There seems to be a very small trace of Lombax technology on a far-off planet known as Ardolis. It might be that artifact that was stolen from the space station." Talwyn: "Ardolis…? Cronk! Zephyr! Get the ship ready. We're leaving!"

She stepped up on a transporter with Cronk and Zephyr. Kim: "Hey! Wait a minute!" Talwyn: "Lock up before you guys leave, OK?"

They were transported out. The group stood by for a bit. Kim: "Well…I guess…we should leave, too. I mean, who knows? That artifact may provide a clue as to where or what this Lombax Secret could be." Ratchet: "Yeah, I agree, let's go." Wade: "There's…just one problem with that: that planet is…inhabited by space pirates." Ron: "Did…did you just say…space pirates? As in the blood-thirsty pillaging kind?" Wade: "Yep and they're robotic, so they're tougher, more lethal and more ruthless. And probably a lot more dangerous than the kind we had here at home." Ron: "Oh, man…I…I didn't think we would be getting ourselves involved in this…!"

Rufus popped out and groaned. Kim: "Ron, we've handled pirates before. It's no big, really." Ratchet: "Yeah and besides, we really don't have a choice in the matter, so quit you bellyaching and let's go already."

Kim, Ratchet and Clank walked off. Ron stood by for a bit, trembling in fear. Ron: "And I had the chance to just stay home. Why do I get myself involved in this, Rufus?"

He walked off after his friends. They returned to their ship, got back in and flew off.

They eventually arrived at the Planet Ardolis. There, they landed and got out of the ship. Soon afterwards, Ron quivered with fear. Ron: "So…this is the…pirate planet, huh? Sure looks…gloomy…and very…pirate-y…" Kim: "Gloomy is right. This backwater planet does look a lot like some place where lowly scum like those pirates would want to occupy." Ratchet: "Come on, Talwyn and her pals can't be too far off."

Kim nodded once; they rushed out as fast as they could.

As they scurried through the place, they ran into a lot of the pirates that had been occupying the entire area. They were subjected to fighting through the pirates as those cutthroats were ruthless and showing no mercy towards the group.

The fight through did indeed take a while. Ratchet: "By the way, the last time you both faced off against pirates was when you were doing that school trip to ye olde Middleton, right?" Kim: "Yeah, that old colonial town that was being run by Mr. Barken's father, no less." Ratchet: "Ugh…Barken senior, huh? That doesn't sound like much fun." Ron: "It was terrible!" Ratchet: "I hear ya, Ron, I mean 1 Barken was bad enough, but 2? That's like twice the irrational annoyance." Clank: "Indeed. That Barken fellow is truly most unpleasant." Ratchet: "Not to mention having to put up with him is probably the only thing worse than being forced to give up all forms technology for an entire week." Ron: "Including television!" Kim: "At least it's all over and we don't have to put up with him ever again." Ratchet: "Hah! Since you both were able to graduate from high school? Oh, yeah, no more Barken and his…annoying…barking?" Ron: "Uh…you know what? The whole "no more putting up with Barken" thing has made me too happy, so I'll overlook that bad pun of yours, Ratchet. Booyah!" Rufus: "Booyah!" Clank: "But wait, do you not work with him at your jo-?" Ron: "I said no more HAVING to put up with Mr. Barken!!!" Kim: "At least on a regular basis as adolescent high school students." Clank: "Um...right, as adolescence at the very least (giggle)."

They continued on, fighting off more and more space pirates. As they progressed further in, the number of space pirates that they had to fight gradually increased. The entire place was indeed crawling with those cutthroat robotic scoundrels.

As they arrived within another area, they received a transmission from Talwyn. Talwyn: "Ratchet. Kim. Can you hear me?" Kim: "Talwyn?" Talwyn: "I've keyed into your nav-unit. You guys are close to the treasure room but you'll need to find a way inside. Slag's crew is already on to us." Kim: "Then we need to get moving. Thankfully, we are resourceful. Right, Ratchet?" Ratchet: "Yeah. So not the drama."

They were eventually able to find the treasure room, from there, they made their way inside and shortly afterwards, located the artifact. Kim: "There it is!"

They walked up to it. Ron: "Uh…what is it, exactly?" Ratchet: "We'll figure that out later. Let's grab it and get out of here."

Before they had the chance to snag it, they could hear the muffled sounds of Cap'n Slag and his first mate, Rusty Pete, singing. There was no doubt that they would arrive at that moment. Ron: "What? Oh, man! Come on! Not now!" Ratchet: "Quick! Hide!"

They darted over towards one of the treasure chests and hid behind it. Cap'n Slag and Rusty Pete came in, still singing. Kim: "I should have known better than to think that we wouldn't see those idiots again." Cap'n Slag: "Arrrr…what be that foul smell?" Kim: "What bad smell? I don't smell anything other than the usual bad odors that involve pirates." Rusty Pete: "Aye, that oyster chili be disagreein' with me somethin' fierce." Kim: "Oyster chili?" Ron: "Ew! I've never heard of a far worse disgrace to chili since someone put chocolate sauce into it!" Cap'n Slag: "No…there be a yet fouler smell…one I now be smellin' for nigh 600 moons." Rusty Pete: "Oh…fresh trousers?"

Ron snickered a little. Cap'n Slag went sniffing around a bit more. Cap'n Slag: "Lombax!"

The group became greatly startled. Kim: "Oh, no!" Cap'n Slag: "Roust the lads, Rusty Pete. Tonight, the foes taste the cat's tail!"

Ratchet was terrified; Kim's face became tense as she was preparing to strike. Ron took notice of that. Just then, they heard a loud whistle from somewhere. The 2 pirates turned around and spotted Talwyn. She was holding a smoke bomb in her hand. Talwyn: "Hey, Rust Bucket! Catch!"

She tossed the smoke bomb at them and gassed the entire place. Cap'n Slag: "Arrrr…skewer the saucy wench!" Rusty Pete: "Aye, Cap'n! Skewerin'!"

There was a lot of noises being heard within. Thankfully, the group was able to take advantage of the confusion as they managed to jump out and make their escape.

#Kim Possible #Ratchet and Clank #Ratchet and Kim Possible Chronicles #The Lombax Secret #Tools of Destruction #Ratchet #Clank #Ron Stoppable #Rufus #Talwyn Apogee #Cronk #Zephyr #Cap'n Slag #Rusty Pete #Wade #Kimmunicator

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carolyncaves · 4 years

Text

It’s Day 6: Breeze and apparently we’re feeling Baoshan Sanren in this chili’s tonight.

727 words, Baoshan Sanren, Songxiao. Post-CQL.

It was said Baoshan Sanren was older than the mountains.

This was obviously not true. The mountains were older than anything that lived, and Baoshan Sanren was not an immortal. She was not born one, anyway, and when her last day came, she would not die one either. This long period in between was admittedly rare, even among cultivators, but she had no grand illusions about her nature. Baoshan Sanren was human, so her fate was sealed.

Atop the celestial mountain it was distant, though. Baoshan Sanren had made her home in a sacred place, and she had cultivated it well. It was a place outside the world, where many things were possible. She lived there for a very long time, gathered disciples, and grew still and wise. She did not know what would make her change.

It was Cangse who planted the first seed. It was Xingchen who watered it. It was, strangely, neither and both of them who cast the light that saw it bloom.

A fierce corpse named Song Lan appeared at the threshold, and he held a silk pouch in his hands.

She went down to meet him personally. “You were told when you left you would not be permitted to enter again in this life,” she called out to him. “Neither of you." But even then, she could see that neither of them had the life they'd left with. She admitted Song Lan and his cargo to the celestial mountain.

It was a ripple in a still pond.

Song Lan could not speak aloud, but Baoshan Sanren had a mirror that reflected pure thoughts, so with it she could hear his story. He revealed himself to her, uncaring whether he himself might be judged and found wanting. He showed her longing, and treachery, and despair. He showed her regret. He showed her the deeds of a fierce and free cultivator, the child of the fierce and free Cangse Sanren. He showed her the splintered remains of the soul of Xingchen, her good and gentle disciple.

He asked her to help him.

“There is little enough left of either of you to work with,” she said.

Please, he said. I will give whatever I have left. I love him, she heard beneath it.

That was the moment Baoshan Sanren knew her time on the mountain was finished.

She knew love. She had loved friends and lost them before coming here; she loved her disciples now and grieved them when they left. But she had failed to understand that Song Lan would love that bag of scattered stardust more than his own half-life without him telling her. So she would go down from the mountain, and she would not return.

Rules were rules, after all. She was bound by them, too, no matter her intellect or her power. An old friend had taught her that lesson, with her words and the terrible consequences of her actions.

First she helped them, as best she could. Song Lan was a corpse with no life, and Xiao Xingchen was a spattering of spiritual energy where a consciousness had once been, but Baoshan Sanren was powerful and old and wise, and the celestial mountain was a place outside the world where many things were possible. They would never be able to leave, but there was a lot to recommend the life they would have there. It was one of peace. They would be able to put their hands in one another's, and they would have all the time they wanted for it.

Someday it would be said that Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, who guarded and inherited Baoshan Sanren's celestial temple, were older than the mountains.

Perhaps it was because of her old friend that Baoshan Sanren's legs carried her where they did. By the time she arrived, she had new callouses on the soles of her feet. Her mind was dazed by new words made for different times. A new and incongruous laughter, the sound of a soul that was bright despite every odd, reached her ears on the mist-damp breeze.

When Baoshan Sanren looked upon the gates of Cloud Recesses for the first time in centuries, she did it with fresh eyes.

(Lan Wangji had not known it was possible for Wei Ying to be speechless. Characteristically, it was Baoshan Sanren who accomplished that miracle.)

#untamed spring fest #the untamed #mdzs #baoshan sanren #songxiao #confession: i started writing this thinking the prompt was 'fresh' if that gives you any hint as to the state of my brain #bc of course 'fresh' was yesterday's prompt #but by the time i realized i'd already written the last line and liked it a lot #so i weaseled 'breeze' in right there before it #let's just say it's two for one on the theme words today #my fic #bssr

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shaekingshitup · 4 years

Text

unintended part three

A/N: I forgot I wrote this but @twistedcharismaaa reminded me that I did. I didn’t have the wonderful @glittermakesmesmile sooo bare with me if you be seein mistakes. Please lmk what you think! I’m lowkey tipsy sooo I may have to come back and re-edit this later lol. I lowkey lost my taglist. Imma find it and make a new one soon. So hakuna matata. Also, the quality of some of these photos are trash but we gone live. It’s better than Teddy’s wifi. So, we good.

WC: about 3994 (Sorry C!)

Warnings: mmm like maybe PG smut? Like for real I chickened out on that. So no worries boo.

Jayden’s OOTD:

Jayden was shocked that she had held onto her composure thus far. The exchanges that she’d had with Trevor had been spicy from jump. Neither had sent any nudes, but the innuendos and open ended interpretations on what would happen the next time they were in the same room left her mind occupied every night since she’d met him three weeks ago.

This was her second trip around his block trying to find a parking spot.

“Oo oo ooo!” She said throwing her car in reverse and slowly retreating from the stop sign. The owner of the parked Kia Soul that had just beeped was going to be getting all of the good karma today. She patiently sat in her car as the woman who vaguely resembled Gwen Stefani started her ignition and departed. Jayden parallel parked her Honda Civic SI 2018 coupe perfectly into the spot. She flipped the visor down to do a final check of her beat before she grabbed her handbag and the drink tray from her passenger seat. She double checked the address on her phone and approached the door.

Ringing the doorbell she did her best to quell any nerves that she felt. She instead allowed her mind to swim with thoughts on how good this man was going to look opening up this door. She could see movement through his front window and jutted her hip out a little further so that the slit in her skirt accentuated her leg a little more.

Trevor opened the door with a smile that held her full attention. “Hey J” he greeted. She cheesed back at him unable to cease the wrinkles that this man would be destined to leave her with. As her eyes trailed down his frame she took note of his pink distressed sweater, the grey joggers and the black socks which adorned his feet and completed his outfit. Trevor watched her watch him and observed the question mark which took over her disposition. She didn’t ask any questions outright but it was plain on her face.

“Hey,” she gave back with a deflated smile. Trevor opened the door wider for her to come in. They stood in his entrance and Trevor took the drink tray from her as Jayden removed her shoes and placed them on the small rack that was next to his front door.

“This is really convenient,” she noted as she allowed her soles to meet the cool tile of his floor.

“Yeah, this way I don’t have to worry about too much people bringing outside inside my home. Come on,” he said with a tilt of his head to indicate the direction they were headed. Trevor brought her into his kitchen which was adjacent to his living room. He placed the drink tray containing his coffee and her water cup on the counter.

“Thank you for this by the way,” he said, grabbing his coffee and taking a sip. He had never felt awkward in his own home before. But I suppose there’s a first for everything. He had been feelin this woman since day one. Now three weeks later here she was looking devourable in his kitchen and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Well one of us had to keep up our end of the bargain,” Jayden quipped. She replaced her deadpan expression because she wasn’t trying to start their encounter off on the wrong foot. “What’s this?” she asked gesturing to the large tupperware bowl filled with water and some meat and the assortment of vegetables and seasonings he had on his countertop.

Trevor cocked his head at her. “These are the ingredients we’re going to need for our dinner tonight.” He leaned in a little closer to her. He was guzzling that coffee down and Jayden was wishing that his lips would be attached to her instead. “But, uh, what do you mean I didn’t keep up my end of the bargain?” Jayden raised her eyes from his mouth to stare at him as she tried to determine if he genuinely wasn’t certain what she was referring to or if he was just playing dumb to mess with her. She blinked slowly and gave a small chuckle deciding that it was the former of the two.

“The day we met. You looked me dead in the eye and said that because you’re a nudist, you would be answering the door with a big cup of joe and nothing else. Obviously because we decided that I was going to be the one to bring the coffee, I figured you’d make a few adjustments. This,” she Vanna Whited to his sweater and joggers, “ was not what I had in mind,”. She reached for the water cup and attempted to quench one of her thirsts .

Trevor was caught off guard. But once his mind had processed what she’d said he tried and failed to stifle the laughter that was dominating his body. “Girl, you are somethin.” He wiped some water from his eyes, placed his cup on the counter and crossed his arms at his chest. Leaning back against the sink he asked, “So, you’re upset because I have on too many layers? I can be naked in less than thirty seconds if that’s what you want Jay. Just say the word.” There was no question. The thought was intriguing to Trevor but she needed to clarify.

“I’m not that thirsty.” Jayden said punctuating her statement with another sip from her water cup only to find that it was already empty. Trevor’s left eyebrow shot up in a manner that catechized her without speaking. She powered forward as if she hadn’t seen that, “I’m just trying to see if you’re a man of your word Jackson,”. Before the period had even been placed at the end of her sentence, the sweater was up and over his head. The joggers were next to go. Trevor watched her. He’d actually made her speechless. He closed the distance before them and continued on with his cheeky behavior.

“Is this better Miss Pierce?” He asked in a low voice as he towered over her, “Do I need to ditch the socks and the boxers next? It’s your call,”

Jayden couldn't even feign that she was unbothered. His appearance. The timbre of his voice. His proximity.They were causing her mind to cloud. She tried to give herself a little room to breath but she was pinned by the kitchen counter. There was nowhere to go but forward. So, she advanced. Staring up into his eyes, daring Trevor to make the next move.

The additional temptation wasn’t what Trevor was looking for. He stared back into her eyes again speaking without forming words.

“Show me you want this. ” his eyes called. Jayden licked her lips and fixed them into a smirk.

“I want you.”

It was game on.

Trevor grabbed her by the waist and placed her atop his kitchen counter. He left his left hand on her exposed thigh and used his right to hold her chin in place as he maintained their connection. He was aware of her everywhere and they hadn’t even done anything yet. The rise and fall of her chest. The wanting in her eyes. The way she fell into a submissive role at his first display of dominance. He was savoring this moment because he knew that whatever happened after this had the potential to be his downfall or his triumph. Hell, when it came to Jayden the possibility of both was also on the table. Quite literally. Whatever the outcome, he was ready to eat.

Trevor dove in without abandon. His right hand fell to her neck as he tasted her lips for the first time. She gasped, whether for additional breath or out of shock Trevor wasn’t sure but he used it. His tongue explored her mouth and she took this opportunity to spar back with him. Sucking his tongue and deepening the kiss she moaned. Jayden bit his bottom lip and moved to bring her left hand to grip the hand he held around her neck. She swiped something on the counter on the way up to reaching him. She jumped and bit him a little harder than she’d intended.

“Fuck!” Trevor hollered. He laughed into their broken kiss but didn’t break his distance to her. Their foreheads touched as they panted into one another’s space.

“Maybe we should..” Jayden trailed off.

“Yeah. Uh, yeah. Maybe we should wait until after dinner’s ready” he picked up glancing down to the floor to see the chili powder, salt and paprika bottles that had fallen. Thankfully none of them had opened up.

Jayden reached out to caress his cheek and guide his attention back to her. “Dinner ain’t goin nowhere. But, we can move this party from the counter to the couch,” she offered. Trevor didn’t need to be told twice. He scooped her up causing her to giggle and wrap her legs around his waist. When he sat down on the couch she adjusted herself to straddle him.

“It’s not fair that I’m over here in my drawers and you got all of this fabric between us.” he pouted. Jayden laughed rolling her eyes. “Are you gonna be a baby or are you gonna do something about it Jackson?” she challenged, “matter of fact, how is it that you’re not listening to any music right now?”

“Well, damn girl. I was waiting for you to come over so that I could be a gentleman and let you pick. But, we can forget that at this point. Hey Alexa, play “Piercing my Thoughts” playlist.”

The opening to one of Jayden’s favorite 70s songs flooded his living room. Surround sound. Jayden could not keep the smile off her face as she sat up in his lap and created a little more friction between the two of them.

“Bold. You are bold sir,” she laughed as she leaned her head down to kiss this man beneath her while Al Green serenaded their adventure.

-------------------------------------------

Do you want to make it better?

Do you want to stay together?

If you do

Then let's please

Make some new

Memories

Jayden woke up..satiated. She continued to lay there until she gathered her thoughts. Anderson Paak and Smokey Robinson were asking her questions. She was no longer in her skirt but now a large Black Plaid Ombre Shirt that could stand to have a lot more buttons used. She sat up to fix this and searched for her handbag. Spotting it in one of the kitchen chairs, she walked over opening the bag to grab the pair of underwear she hadn’t worn when she’d shown up. Trevor may be comfortable with the nudist thing but she wasn’t at that level yet.

But you at the level to fuck within the first fifteen minutes, Jayde? Asked her subconscious. Jayden retreated from the kitchen in search of the bathroom. She probably should have made this man give her a full tour of his place before she decided to climb him. But, hey. She was here now. She walked to the right of the kitchen already knowing that the living room was to the left. She came upon the dining room and briefly admired his decor.

This man has good taste. And not just in women.

The backyard was just off of this room and when she walked over the sliding door and took a glance outside, she saw a pool, a lounging area with a tv and a fire pit and.. a dog house. It looked empty.

“I haven’t seen any dogs” she pondered aloud.

“That’s because he’s at the groomers.” answered her from directly behind where she stood and Jayden damn near jumped out of her skin . Trevor, walked up behind her snaking an arm around his flannel that was draping across her body. He watched his backyard with his chin resting on her head. “How was your nap?” he asked.

“Good. Thanks for the shirt by the way. How long was I out?”

“Barely 20 minutes. You should have drank some coffee. I guess you were tired,” she didn’t need to look at him. She could hear the pride and the smile in his voice. Jayden exhaled loudly to cover up her smile and the fact that she was heavily inhaling his scent.

“You stay with the jokes,”

“You stay feelin it too.” he countered and licked a long strip on her cheek.

“OH MY GAWD! Where’s your restroom anyway?” she feened an eye roll. She was trying not to get too caught up over the fact that she was standing in this man’s shirt with nothing else on.

“There’s one right off of the front door.” She turned around fully facing him, in all of his nude glory. She quickly looked away and made a beeline for the restroom.

When she was done freshening up, she found him in the living room again writing in a notepad as a Dan + Shay ballad caused him to drum his left hand to the rhythm of the song.

“Tequila?” she mused? “This has been piercing your thoughts?” she inquired.

“Nah. That playlist is still a work in progress. I’m still tryna figure out some stuff. You ready for the rest of the tour? I just set the oven to pre-heat.

“Sure. But we’re not gone glance over the fact that you have a whole playlist inspired by me.”

“No. We not. Plus, we’re gonna talk about how you got one for me too. I follow you on Spotify ya know.” Jayden wasn’t trying to concede to anything. So, she switched it up.

“I see we’ve returned to the joggers.” She spoke as he stood from the couch.

“I want you to be comfortable when you with me. I know that you’re not about that nudist life yet. I peeped how quickly you made your way to the bathroom. Stick around me long enough and we can change that,” he took her hand and guided her through his home. Jayden adored how often his corny humor peaked out while he told her short stories about random furniture and events that had occurred in his home. He lent her a pair of his boxers too. By the time they made it back to the kitchen they were ready to get to preppin their dinner.

“What’s on the menu for tonight Chef Jackson?”

“Shrimp Fajitas. I already deveined the shrimp before you got here,”

“Oh, okay. A true gentleman I see.”

“So, we got some bell peppers that need some slicin if you want to get started on that and I’ll worry about seasonin the meat.”

“Aye aye Cap’n.” she mock saluted. They settled themselves into their roles at the countertop. Working side by side was exactly what Jayden wanted. She could steal glances without openly gawking at the specimen of man he was.

“So, about your playlist..” he opened

“What about it?” Jayden asked.

“What do you think? About the music I mean. I saw you put damn near every song I ever released in a playlist,”

“Woww. We are out here lurkin lurkin in these streets.”

“Says the girl who downloaded my whole discography. What better way to know someone than through their taste in music? So, what’d you learn about me?”

“Well, from the way you’ve been blowin up my DMs and some of the songs I’ve heard, I’ve learned that you are definitely in a lane of your own.”

“Hmm. How’s that?” she had his interest peaked.

“I mean you’re an artist who has been in the game long enough to know the rules and you completely disregard them. Nigga,” she said shifting her body and the knife she was using to cut peppers in his direction,” while most artists are over here talking about Versace, Gucci, YSL and Louis, you are over here flexin in CROCS! CROCS, my nigga!” she cackled and glanced down at his feet in case they might manifest just because she mentioned it.

“You cute when you laugh,” he answered unafraid to openly admire her. “But, you look crazy wieldin that knife. Watch it J.”

She rolled her eyes. She had just discussed his music and he wasn’t even focused on that. Too busy complimentin her. So odd.

“Anyways, like I said you in your own lane. I can tell by the way you choose to direct your own videos as well. You have some out there concepts. Not Gaga meat dress out there. They’re simply abnormal to the culture, highly intellectual and yet it makes sense.” she continued.

“Oh, so we was peepin the videos too? How far down my rabbit hole did you go?

Shit.

“A saw a few videos. I mean you’re cool.” she shrugged. Trevor felt that she gave this off too breezily.

“Uh uh. That’s that hard Jayden. What else did you see?” he asked as he washed his hands free of the fresh lime, garlic, and seasonings he'd been working with. Jayden should have been watching him as he’d left his spot beside her. Maybe she would have seen the goofy Spongebob knowing smile he had plastered on his face as he toweled off his hands and made his way back to her from the other direction.

“I said what I said. You got some decent music videos. Moving on,” she started and that’s when he attacked. He grabbed her from behind, causing her to drop her knife and tickled her like she wasn’t in the middle of doing the task that he’d assigned her. She was squealing and thrashing. She was trying to be angry but she couldn’t help her body’s natural reaction to laugh.

‘I’m gonna pee my pants!” she screamed.

“Nope. you’re gonna pee my pants. You gone tell me the truth?” She said nothing and he refused to relent until she was real with him.

“OKAY. LEMME GO YOU BIG CHILD! I’LL TALK!” Trevor released her and waited for her to say what she was holding back.

“I may have binged watched both seasons of Grownish, Burning Sands, All American and alloftheDisneyshitthatyouhaveeverbeenin.” she threw that last part in so quickly he wasn’t certain when she’d come up for air again.

“In three weeks time? Oh shit. I got me a stalker.” Trevor joked. Jayden threw a bell pepper strip at him.

“I thought I was supposed to feel comfortable in your house.” she quipped.

“That’s exactly what I’d expect a stalker to say,” he countered back. She was still as he chortled. And then she lunged for him. She chased him around his kitchen for a good two minutes until Trevor gave up because he was laughing so much. When he came to an immediate hault, Jayden crashed directly into him.

“Ow!” she cried.

“Aye, if you were looking for a hug all you had to do was ask J” he said, enveloping her in a bear hug. She just smiled at this dude who three weeks ago she didn’t even know existed. Now, they’d swapped some music, some knowledge and saliva.

“Stop thinkin about time and just let it happen.” Trevor said.

“I don’t like how close you are to my thoughts. Please back up.”

“Look from jump street, we was feelin each other and this connection. Don’t worry about the timeline of it. I can see your wheels turning. We don’t live by anybody’s rules. Like you said, we know em and then we break em. But we still succeed,”

“That’s not quite what I said.”

“I’m paraphrasing. I don’t have the script in front of me.”

“Oh-kayyy. Can we please get this food in the oven? I’m hungry” Trevor looked her up and down. “Hakuna Matata J. We gone eat,” he said licking his lips.

The two of them got all of the food onto a sheet pan to cook and retired to the living with some wine.

“Okay, I know I’m supposed to be here to peep alllll 200 hundred of these new songs you got. But, I’m also interested in experiencing this speaker system you have here. Can we watch a Netflix show or something?”

“I always knew you had good taste for sound. Okay so I got Amazon Prime, HBO, Showtime, Hulu, Disney + and I got a lot of new stuff thanks to SAG that hasn’t even hit the theatres yet. So, you can pick your poison.”

Jayden’s eyes widened at the array of selection he was offering. “You got exclusive content? Like what?”

“Well, I got this film with Issa Rae and Lakeith-”

“Say no more. We’re watching that one sir.”

“What about the plot? Or any of the other actors?”

“I’ll figure that out along the way. Plug it in! Plug it in!” she shimmied and sing-songed. The two enjoyed their dinner and film; but, most of all they enjoyed each other’s company. Trevor was amused at the small comments and natural responses Jayden had throughout the film and her review of the song choices was right in line with his own. However, the short debate that they had afterwards recapping the movie and Jayden’s disappointment for both Issa’s performance and the less engaging storyline that her character had in comparison to her mother’s was bynfar his favorite moment of the night. She was animated through and through. None of her hardness was at the forefront and although they hadn’t seen eye to eye on every facet of the film, the communication was healthy. They genuinely listened to one another, communicated and adapted their points for their side based on new information and perspectives presented and they were able to evolve the film discussion into some deeper intellectual ones where neither felt that they were restricted by the knowledge of the other to discuss these topics earnestly

"What's on your agenda for tomorrow?' Jayden asked as she nursed her third glass of wine sitting on top of Trevor’s freshly wiped down kitchen counter. Not only did this man have good taste in women, and home decor but he was intellectual, creative and cleanly?

TUH!

"Well, I was supposed to link up with this lil thang this weekend," Jayden balked contemplating if there was enough wine in her glass to toss at him, "and we were gonna listen to music-about 200 songs," Trevor saw her release her grip on the glass and relax, “but she turned out to be a stalker and we got a lil carried away on the couch,”

“You had sex with your stalker? That’s dangerous,”

“True. But now I know that she’s really feelin me and she won’t go anywhere else.”

“Aight, Imma head out” Jayden said, finishing her wine and hopping down from the counter.

“Yeah, right.” he said following her out of the kitchen and turning off the lights. “The only place you’re heading is to sleep,” Trevor said

Jayden yawned “I already took a nap. Not really that tired.”

“You’re a bad liar,” he said. “Let me help you out Sleeping Beauty,” Before Jayden knew it he she was being bridal carried up the stairs

“Left or right?” he asked when she’d come out of the restroom.

“Which side do you sleep on? It’s your bed.”

“I gotta be appeasing stalkers. I never know what they gone do next,” Jayden climbed into the middle of the bed out of spite.

Trevor crawled in behind her and pulled her closer. “You’re really never gonna let that go are you?”

Trevor held on a little tighter. “Nah”.

------------------

TAG LIST: @twistedcharismaaa @mygirlrenee @glittermakesmesmile @sarcastic-sunshines @chaneajoyyy @shewrites02 @ghostfacekill-monger @raysunshine78 @shewritestheblues @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @fd-writes @eyeknowmywrites @thadelightfulone @yoyolovesbucky

#unintended #Trevor Jackson #trevor jackson x oc #shaekingspeaks

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bettydice · 4 years

Text

(Planning the Day) To Meet You

Wangxian, Modern AU, Slow Burn, E-Rated

[READ ON AO3]

Chapter 6

Thursday, Twelfth Day with Wei Ying

Lan Wangji spends a long while (about seven minutes) in front of his wardrobe this morning, wondering which of his clothes would be appropriate playground wear. White trousers are out. Lan Wangji is also not a shorts person, though he can see the advantages of wearing as little fabric as possible that could get covered in sand. He finally settles on light grey trousers he can roll up a little, and a short-sleeved dress shirt that is definitely not playground appropriate. But the fabric is light and incredibly soft, and if he wears it just in case Wei Wuxian might tug on his sleeve again, that is no one’s business but his own.

He debates whether he should go to the library first, but decides it’d be more efficient to work from home this morning. That way he doesn’t have to carry his laptop to the playground later. Those matters decided, he takes a shower and then goes to the kitchen to have breakfast and prepare lunch.

Even though he did some… processing yesterday, he still can’t fully wrap his mind around the fact that his attraction is not one-sided. He’s sure that Wei Ying’s feelings don’t run as deep as his own, but… he’s been flirting. Wei Ying thinks that Lan Wangji is beautiful. And Lan Wangji thinks… that Wei Ying wouldn’t mind kissing him. It was right here in his kitchen, when he thought that they might. The reminder sends heat cursing through his body and he starts chopping the carrots with extra strength and determination.

Lan Wangji wanted to, still wants to. At the same time, he’s glad it didn’t happen. Because his feelings do run deep and the thought of kissing Wei Ying when he can’t have all of him, can’t give him all of himself… He’ll just have to wait for Wei Wuxian to catch up with him. Bribing him with clementines and delicious coffee is probably a good start. Lan Wangji checks his phone. The syrups are supposed to be delivered tonight. Good.

When he arrives at the playground, Wei Wuxian and A-Yuan are already there, once more playing on the slide. He’s barely made two steps in their direction, when Wei Ying lifts his head and spots him, a radiant smile immediately blossoming on his face. Lan Wangji instantly questions his resolve to save kissing for a later time. Right now, he could just… take Wei Ying’s face in his hands and kiss him senseless. Literally sweep him off his feet, like he said he’s waiting for. He’s not entirely certain what kind of logistics a maneuver like that would entail, but he’s sure he could improvise something. He may not have the experience, but his imagination is not restricted by that at all. But no… Wei Ying is right. No need to rush.

“Tall-gege!” A-Yuan has spotted him as well, takes the slide, runs over to Lan Wangji at full speed, until he collides with his leg, wrapping his short arms around it. Definitely a good thing he didn’t wear white trousers again.

Lan Wangji stares down at A-Yuan’s head and then at Wei Wuxian, who is laughing so hard, he almost topples over.

“Hello, A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji awkwardly pats his head in greeting.

A-Yuan, apparently content with how this went about, lets him go and immediately runs back to the slide, as fast as his legs can carry him. Before Lan Wangji can follow him, Wei Ying approaches, traces of laughter still on his face.

“Lan Zhan, you really came.”

“Of course.” How could he not?

And then… Wei Ying slowly drags his gaze over Lan Wangji’s face and his lips unfurl into a wicked smile. He steps even closer, until they’re almost touching and Wei Ying has to tip his head back a little to keep up eye contact.

“Mhm, I’ve been looking forward to seeing you. All night.” And then he winks.

Oh no.

“That was me flirting with you, Lan Zhan. Did you notice?”

“Yes.” He noticed it with his entire body.

“Ah, great. Now that you know, please honour my efforts!” Wei Ying looks incredibly pleased, dimples deepening and eyes glinting.

“How...,” his voice comes out rough and he clears his throat, before he tries again, “How would you like me to honour you?” He’s certain he can come up with a multitude of ideas, but he’d like to hear Wei Ying’s preferences first.

Wei Ying simply stares and stares, maybe thinking about his answer, and Lan Wangji waits patiently for him to respond. As he waits, he sees a flush begin to spread over Wei Ying’s cheekbones. Is this what Wei Ying looked like after Lan Wangji sent him the picture with him and the bunnies? Was he this speechless?

“Lan Zhan… are you flirting back?”

“... am I?”

Wei Ying hides his face behind his hand, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Aah, what should I do with you… stealing all my thunder and you don’t even know it! You unleash this deadly weapon unknowingly… Lan Zhan, my poor heart!”

Lan Wangji can’t help but feel a little - more than a little - smug, seeing how flustered Wei Ying seems to be. He’s not sure he can replicate this ‘flirting’, but if simply telling Wei Ying his honest thoughts brings a flush to his face, he will happily continue doing that. He still hasn’t gotten an answer though.

“Wei Ying… please let me know your prefered way for me to honour your efforts.”

“Oh my god, Lan Zhan, stop it! I’m already defeated!” Wei Ying simply laughs him off and then grabs his arm and drags him over to their bench.

The morning passes quickly and happily, and the closer lunch approaches, the more Lan Wangji’s anticipation grows. They haven’t discussed yet whether A-Yuan will take his nap at Lan Wangji’s apartment again. He’d gotten out the guest bedding this morning, just in case.

They do go to his apartment after lunch again. A-Yuan is only sleepy, not asleep yet, but he still allows Lan Wangji to carry him. Once he’s dusted off and nestled into bed, Lan Wangji makes coffee and tea for Wei Ying and him and they sit down on the couch.

This time, Lan Wangji does not feel uncomfortable at all. Wei Wuxian happily chatters a long, as usual, and occasionally puts his hand on Lan Wangji’s knee or his arm. It’s all very casual, but this time, he likes the thought that this is just an ordinary day for them, that it could be like this every day. He feels… deeply content.

(Well, there is one uncomfortable bit, because Wei Wuxian spots his guqin and Lan Wangji suddenly remembers that he’s left the sheet notes on the table he’s been working on yesterday and the title of the song may or may not be ‘incriminating’ and so he may or may not end up giving Wei Wuxian the impression that he’s uncomfortable talking about his music. But that’s something he can rectify in the future, when he isn’t running the danger of getting found out for writing sappy love songs. He does find out that Wei Ying also plays an instrument - the flute - and Lan Wangji already has ideas for duets they could play.)

After A-Yuan wakes up, he brings them to the bus stop and picks up some groceries on the way back. He’s making lunch for three people now, after all.

In the evening, he receives another message from Wei Ying.

Wei Ying Lan Zhan, I really want to see and hear you play. Will you play for me one day? Pleeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaase???????

Lan Wangji Maybe.

Wei Ying Aah, don’t tease me!!! I’ll play for you, too!

Lan Wangji I’d like that.

Wei Ying Or I could draw something for you! How about I draw your bunnies????

Lan Wangji I’d like that.

Wei Ying Anything else I could bribe you with?

Lan Wangji immediately knows what he wants to ask for. His neck flushes at the thought. He almost doesn’t, but somehow, cocooned in the darkness and his blanket and in the distant intimacy of their text messages, he finds the courage.

Lan Wangji A picture.

Wei Ying What kind of picture?

Lan Wangji Of Wei Ying.

Wei Ying Hahaha, Lan Zhan, flirting again? ;) Alright! Sugar or spice?

Lan Wangji Either. Both.

Wei Ying Ooooooooooooooooh Gimme a sec Enjoy~

The photo that Lan Wangji receives shows Wei Ying sitting on his bed (presumably). He’s smiling sweetly into the camera, but he’s wearing another one of those very well-worn, very soft sweaters. This time, his entire left shoulder is exposed, as well as that collarbone. He wonders whether Wei Ying tugged his sweater down himself or whether he simply always looks like that. It’s getting very hot under his blanket.

Wei Ying Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan, did you get this? Spicy enough? Should I add more chili? ;) ;) ;)

Lan Wangji Beautiful. Wei Ying is beautiful.

Wei Ying 123123zgugAHBD23g7q12e31 No u

Is Wei Ying blushing right now? If he is, Lan Wangji is sad he missed it. The image of Wei Ying’s flushed face from this morning is still clear and fresh and tantalising in his mind. He wonders whether Wei Ying’s blush ever spreads to other parts of his body… Mhm, that picture clearly was very ‘spicy’.

Lan Wangji It is spicy enough.

Wei Ying Lan Zhan!!!!!!!!!!111112313 Don’t wait to say these things!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Or I’ll think that you’ve been thinking about it and…

Lan Wangji Thank you for the picture.

Wei Ying Literally my pleasure Good night, Lan Zhan

Lan Wangji Good night, Wei Ying.

Friday, Thirteenth Day with Wei Ying

Today, Lan Wangji is the first one to arrive. He feels a bit awkward, sitting on the playground by himself. The wait until Wei Wuxian and A-Yuan arrive seems to stretch on for much longer than the fifteen minutes it takes. Wei Wuxian isn’t carrying A-Yuan in his arms, instead he’s almost being dragged onto the playground, A-Yuan pulling excitedly on his hand. As soon as he spots Lan Wangji, A-Yuan yells “Tall-gege” and then lets go of Wei Ying’s hand and… proceeds to run in circles across the sand, laughing.

Wei Ying walks over to Lan Wangji and sinks down onto the bench with a heavy sigh. Then he slides down until he can rest his head on the back of the bench and his sigh turns into a groan.

“Wei Ying?”

“Lan Zhan… can you make sure that my radish doesn’t eat too much sand and doesn’t climb anything he shouldn’t climb? My eyelids are stuck together,” Wei Ying whines. And indeed, his eyes are still closed.

“Mn.”

“Thank you, Lan Zhan is the best.”

“Are you… sick?”

“Ah no, just fucking tired. Worked on this idea I had all night, might turn it into my final project for uni, had to scrap it and redo a bunch of code though, didn’t get any sleep and-” Wei Ying yawns and rubs his eyes. “I think A-Yuan stole all my energy. Look at him” Wei Ying, eyes still closed, points in A-Yuan’s general direction, who is currently running around a tree while singing a song Lan Wangji is not familiar with. The melody is very catchy.

“Coffee?”, Lan Wangji offers, in lieu of a better idea.

“Mhm, already had a bunch… '' Wei Wuxian opens one eye and glances at Lan Wangji. Then he closes it again, shuffles and adjusts his position, until his head is resting on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “Lemme just borrow your arm for a while, okay?”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying hums quietly and then wraps his arms loosely around Lan Wangji’s arm. It is as though Lan Wangji’s arm has found a new purpose as Wei Ying’s pillow. He doesn’t mind at all. Wei Ying can borrow anything of his that he’d like. Lan Wangji tries his best to be a good pillow, not moving at all, so Wei Ying will borrow him again in the future.

Wei Ying’s soft breath caresses his skin on every exhale and it is easy to wonder whether it would feel like this if they were to wake up next to each other. He thinks about his dream, the one where Wei Ying fell asleep on top of him, head resting over his heart. This is… very close. Lan Wangji smiles.

“Lan Zhan…”, Wei Ying murmurs, as though he’s halfway in a dream. “Feels so nice.”

“Mn.”

Lan Wangji suddenly wishes… wants to try something. And because this feels so comfortable, feels so right, he finds the courage to try. He slowly moves his unoccupied right arm and then gently rests his hand on top of Wei Ying’s left hand.

Wei Ying doesn’t react at all at first. Lan Wangji wonders whether he actually fell asleep. However, before he can take back his hand and his courage, Wei Ying turns his hand and intertwines their fingers.

They sit like this for a long time, holding hands, Wei Ying’s head on his shoulder. A-Yuan has finally stopped running and gotten out his shovel and bucket, to go do some important construction work in the sand. It is peaceful and quiet. The only sound Lan Wangji can hear is the beating of his own heart.

Nothing disturbs their intimacy, until…

“Wei Ying.”

“Mhm, Lan Zhan.”

“Did you put duct tape on your flip flops?”

“Ah… Yes. Are you admiring my creativity? Why throw something away, when you can simply fix it!”

“What is your shoe size?”

“Huh?”

Lan Wangji has already gotten out his phone and is searching for his preferred clothing store.

“Lan Zhan, what are you doing?” Wei Ying lifts his head from his pillow and leans forward, so he can look at the screen of Lan Wangji’s phone.

“Wei Ying needs new shoes.”

“Wei Ying will buy his own shoes! … Eventually.”

Lan Wangji ignores him and simply bends down, grabs Wei Wuxian’s ankle and lifts his leg, so he can look at his shoe size.

“Forty-four.”

He nods, sits upright again and goes back to his phone.

“Black?”

“The hell? Lan Zhan, don’t buy those, they’re way too expensive.”

“I don’t mind.”

He’s about to press ‘Order’, when Wei Ying puts his hand over Lan Wangji’s to stop him.

“Alright, I’ll buy new ones… Happy?”

“...“ Not happy, no. He’d really like to buy them for Wei Ying.

“Fine! I’ll order them right now!”

Wei Ying fishes his phone out of his pocket, right arm still curled around Lan Wangji’s and unlocks it. Lan Wangji only catches a short glimpse of the lock screen, but it is long enough to see…

“That’s me,” Lan Wangji states the obvious. His mind is too occupied with the monumental realisation that Wei Ying likes his pictures, likes Lan Wangji so much that he doesn’t mind looking at him on his phone, every day, many times… it is… Almost too much.

“Oh… ah, haha, yeah…” The flush is back on Wei Ying’s face and Lan Wangji would like to touch it. With his fingertips or with his lips.”Uh, well, it’s a really cute picture, isn’t it… with the bunnies… A-Yuan likes it too, so… anyway, let me go order some flip flops… mhm… there we go… 70 Yuan instead of 500! Bought!”

Wei Wuxian hurries to put his phone back in his pocket, then demonstratively squeezes his eyes shut and puts his head back on Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

“Nothing wrong with duct tape,” he huffs out. Lan Wangji smiles fondly, despite the exasperation he feels. “500 Yuan… ridiculous…”

After lunch time and nap time, once Lan Wangji is alone in his apartment again, the first thing he does is make Wei Wuxian’s ‘spicy’ picture his lock screen background. He thinks Cloud and Jade will understand why he replaced them.

Wei Ying Lan Zhan, A-Ning is feeling better He’s excited to spend the weekend with A-Yuan

Lan Wangji Alright. I’m glad he’s feeling better. Will I see Wei Ying on Monday?

Wei Ying Yes! Library again! Unless… Do you want to meet us for ice cream tomorrow? Only if you’re not busy of course

Lan Wangji Yes.

Wei Ying !!!!!! :) I’ll text you tomorrow with time and place

Lan Wangji I’ll look forward to it.

Wei Ying thank you for being my pillow today vVery comfortable

Lan Wangji Always.

Wei Ying ❤❤❤

Lan Wangji ❤

Wei Ying !!!!!!!! ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

Saturday, Fourteenth Day with Wei Ying

Lan Wangji’s first impression of Wen Ning (after the picture that made him think he was Wei Wuxian’s husband) is… he’s quite intimidating. Wen Ning is tall, looks even taller because A-Yuan is sitting on his shoulders. His long, deep black hair is not decorated with braids today, but wildly frames his very pale face. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with very spiky letters and a skull and a black collar on his neck, studded with spikes. It doesn’t help with the nervousness coursing through Lan Wangji. It is really important to him that this man, who is an important part of Wei Ying’s life, will like him.

The three of them are waiting next to a fountain. Wei Ying keeps dipping his hand in the water and then flicking his fingers, spraying water droplets over A-Yuan, who laughs every time this happens. A lot of those droplets seem to land on Wen Ning’s face, who endures it all with a gentle smile.

Lan Wangji takes a deep breath, pulls back his shoulders and approaches them.

“Lan Zhan! You came!”

Wei Ying still sounds surprised about that every time and Lan Wangji wonders why. Of course he’s here. Of course he’ll go where Wei Ying is.

Wen Ning smiles and nods at him. Lan Wangji returns the nod.

Then he lifts his head a little to wave at A-Yuan, who… bends over, hands stretched out towards Lan Wangji, yelling “Tall-gege!”

He’s going to fall down, oh god. Lan Wangji quickly lifts his arms, so he can catch him before anything horrible happens. Wen Ning is still holding on to A-Yuans legs, maybe used to things like this, and now A-Yuan is awkwardly being held by both of them, arms around Lan Wangji’s neck.

“Got him?” Wen Ning’s voice is muffled by A-Yuan’s belly.

“Yes.”

Wen Ning releases his hold on A-Yuan’s legs and Lan Wangji carefully lifts him over Wen Ning’s head, until he can carry him safely in his arms. A-Yuan has been laughing through all of this, oblivious to Lan Wangji’s bone-deep horror. A panicked look in Wei Ying’s direction shows he’s laughing too. But from Wen Ning he receives an understanding nod.

“Lan Wangji, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise,” Lan Wangji manages to say while struggling to keep a hold on a squirming A-Yuan, who is trying his hardest to touch the water from the fountain.

“Mhm, I doubt you heard about me in the same manner,” Wen Ning murmurs, glancing at Wei Ying. Before Lan Wangji can think about what that means or ask him to elaborate, Wei Ying steps between them.

“Ahaha, A-Ning, so funny. Hilarious. A-Yuan, stop being a monkey, monkeys don’t eat ice cream.”

“Radish!”

“Yes, exactly. You’re a cute little radish and radishes get all the ice cream.”

“Yay, ice cream!”

“Yay!” Wei Ying plucks A-Yuan out of Lan Wangji’s arms and then leads them to the ice cream parlour.

The multitude of flavours on offer overwhelms Lan Wangji. He rarely eats ice cream or any sweets at all. On the weekends, he occasionally indulges in a piece or two of dark chocolate, but usually his sensitive Lan stomach cannot handle much more. Oh well, he’ll just have to power through. He orders last (a scoop of lemon sorbet) and pays for everything before Wei Ying can stop him again.

They take their ice cream outside, sitting down on a stone wall facing the fountain. A-Yuan’s face is already a chocolatey mess and Lan Wangji is a little relieved Wei Ying is sitting next to him, serving as a possible buffer in case sticky hands go exploring. Wen Ning sits on the other side of A-Yuan but keeps throwing glances at Lan Wangji. Even though they don’t feel threatening or disapproving, his anxiety ramps up again all the same. He should talk to Wen Ning, but… Lan Wangji has always been better at ending conversations than starting them.

“Wei Ying said you play the guqin?” Wen Ning suddenly inquires. Lan Wangji feels Wei Ying tense up next to him.

“Ah, yes.” With a reply like that the conversation will immediately fizzle out and die, he knows, but what else could he say?

“That’s cool! Did you know that Wei Ying and I are in a band together?” Lan Wangji is grateful that Wen Ning keeps the conversation going, but it also feels that the comment is mostly meant for Wei Ying’s benefit, who’s not just tense, but has started squirming in his seat, glaring at Wen Ning.

“I did not.” But he immediately wants to know more, wants to hear songs, wants to see pictures.

“Hey, Wen Ning! We were in a band! Were! Past tense! Why are you talking about that now?”

“I want to know about the band,” Lan Wangji says to Wen Ning, ignoring Wei Ying’s indignant squawk.

“Yiling Laozu forever!” Wen Ning balls his left hand into a fist and punches the air. Wei Ying drags one hand across his face and groans.

“I… excuse me?” Lan Wangji has never heard that expression before.

“Yiling Laozu is our band! Wei Ying is the lead singer and of course plays his flute and-”

“A thing of the past! We disbanded!”

“Not officially, just because your brother-”

“ANYWAY, Lan Zhan, you don’t want to hear about my embarrassing teenage experimental metal electronica project, let’s all just never mention it again and-”

“I would like to hear it.” Lan Wangji is not at all familiar with the genre Wei Ying described, but since it is Wei Ying, it must be wonderful to listen to. He has such a nice voice, it will be just as nice when he’s singing.

“Oh trust me, you don’t. Lan Zhan should only ever listen to beautiful music.”

“Wei-gege, do you not like our music anymore?” Wen Ning sounds sad, his eyes wide and pleading but Lan Wangji gets the feeling that it is mostly for show.

“A-Ning, that’s not what I’m saying at all.” Wei Ying sighs, shoves the rest of his ice cream cone in his mouth and then continues talking while chewing. “Yiling Laozu is just… very, veeeeeeery niche and uh… “

“Lan Wangji, you should come visit us one day. I’ll play you some of our songs.” Wen Ning’s smile is a little too innocent, but it doesn’t take away from the invitation feeling genuine. Lan Wangji likes him.

“Thank you. I’d like that.”

Wei Wuxian sighs, drawn out and full of suffering, and puts his hand back over his face, murmuring to himself, “I bet this is Wen Qing’s fault, making her innocent little brother torture me like this.”

Wen Ning huffs a laugh and then A-Yuan demands everyone’s attention because he’s finished his ice cream and he’s not happy about it. Wei Ying gets out wet wipes to clean A-Yuans face and hands. He’s even less happy about that. However, his mood drastically improves as Wei Ying scoops him up into his arms and then carries him over to the fountain, pretending over and over that he’s going to drop him into it.

The packet of wet wipes appears in his view and Lan Wangji looks over to Wen Ning, who offers them with a smile. He nods his thanks and cleans his hands and finally feels himself relax. Wei Ying’s and A-Yuan’s laughter is bright and carefree, echoing across the square and Lan Wangji… Lan Wangji is so grateful Wei Ying sat down at his table that day in the library and wasn’t chased away by Lan Wangji’s frown.

Wei Ying Thank you for the ice cream So delicious~

Lan Wangji It was. Thank you for inviting me.

Wei Ying please forget about Yiling Laozu

Lan Wangji I want to hear Wei Ying’s music.

Wei Ying Lan Zhannnnn :(

Lan Wangji I’ll play the guqin for you, too.

Wei Ying I thought you were going to do that anyway!!! I bribed you with a picture! I’m gonna draw the bunnies for you! You can’t suddenly go back on your promise!

Lan Wangji You’re right. How can I bribe Wei Ying then? Spicy picture?

Wei Ying Oh no Lan Zhan you are a menace FINE I’ll play some of that weird shit for you You’ll regret it Don’t say I didn’t warn you

Lan Wangji I’m looking forward to it

Wei Ying You really shouldn’t

Lan Wangji When would be a good time for me to visit?

Wei Ying Oh, you want to…. YES Let me just Wen Qing says you should come over for dinner Monday?

Lan Wangji That would be lovely, thank you.

Wei Ying !!!!! great!

Lan Wangji Good night, Wei Ying.

Wei Ying Good night! Hey… Where’s the spicy picture? Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan! !!!!!! Hey! Did you go to sleep? ??????????????????? Don’t tease me! I can see that you’re reading my messages! Alright, alright, don’t worry, I’ll let you off the hook. Good night, Lan Zhan ❤

Lan Wangji Does this contain enough spice?

Wei Ying !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LAN WANGJI Is that one open button I spy??? SCANDALOUS Aaaah You kill me

Lan Wangji Good night.

Wei Ying YOU THINK I CAN SLEEP NOW??? ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ ❤❤❤❤❤❤ ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ Sleep well

#the untamed #mdzs #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #lan wangji/wei wuxian #modern au #fluff #wholesome content #betty drabbles #To Meet You verse

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